Fear Itself
by Freddie23
Summary: Something very strange is happening in Mirkwood. Mystery and horror push its people almost to breaking point. All around Legolas and Thranduil, Elves and Men are dying under grisly and unusual circumstances and the people of Mirkwood must discover who or what is behind the increasingly odd and terrifying occurrences before it consumes the Realm entirely. Pre-War of the Ring.
1. Into The Darkness

**Fear Itself**

**By**

**Freddie23**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing created by Tolkien and I make no money from this story.**

**Rating: K+**

**Chapter 1 – Into The Darkness**

Darkness was all around them. The night, usually considered an ally to their cause, a comforting blanket of protection, had turned against them. They feared it in a way they never had before, they longed for dawn to come and chase away the black night.

They moved with utmost caution, their bodies each tense and tight, as though braced for attack at any moment. It did not help that despite their best efforts, they could not achieve the complete silence they knew was a requirement for their task to be successful. Each knew the cost of even one tiny misstep that would announce their presence. And yet, it was all but inevitable that it would happen eventually. Only a matter of time. The dried foliage beneath their feet made it impossible to pass unnoticed beneath the trees. Each step crunched loudly in the still air and they winced at the combined racket of their passing. No matter how hard they tried, avoiding the leaf litter was impossible; it covered the much-used path just as well as it did the untouched earth on either side of the road. Short of moving through the trees, which would surely result in some kind of accident in the darkness of the night, there was no other way.

However, seeking to keep their presence as veiled as possible, none of the six strong party carried torches and the lack of light only increased their unease. Fortunately, they knew the way well enough not to need the light of flames to guide them. It would be for only comfort and to indulge such luxuries would be foolish given the peril they were all in.

The noises of the night startled them as they would not normally. The simplest thing; the hoot of an owl, the scrabble of some innocent nocturnal creature out on the midnight hunt. Everything presented a possible threat and in place of their torches they carried double the weaponry for security; crudely forged pieces but effective against any foes and proven so countless times before.

Their leader walked ahead of them, bold and undaunted; or at least so he appeared before the others. He was the only one among them who had experience with these night time patrols. The others were trainees, young men who had not yet progressed to the same level as their leader. But desperate times were upon them and the village elders could not wait any longer to discover the source of the evil terrorising their people. Each man here this night had volunteered. None had been forced and yet not all of the five were entirely willing. Shrewd eyes, judging and sharp, had watched just that afternoon as the captain of their defences called all into the village square to discuss the latest in a long line of troubles afflicting their home. Numbers of guardsmen were down and the patrols needed boosting with new blood. During the daylight hours it was no problem; young men with little experience could be watched over by the well trained, kept firmly in check. Daylight offered safety in the eyes of the inexperienced and they did not fear wandering their woodland home when the sun blessed them with her protection. But at night it was different, especially of late. Things had changed much in the village over the past three months, they could no longer rely on the daylight patrols alone, and that was the purpose behind the captain's plea for numbers and for the patrol tonight.

The small village on the very edge of Mirkwood's great forest was usually a quiet place. A small grouping of shared houses constructed amongst the trees was all that was built there and it was usually a peaceful place to live. It was far enough removed from the great palace of the Elven King Thranduil to avoid trouble with the Elves who lived there and it was far enough away from the dark monstrosity that was Dul Guldur that they had suffered very few encounters with the Orcs who were said to thrive there. The odd stray was all they had been forced to deal with, easily taken care of by the warriors in their community.

But lately, their peace had been shattered. Screams in the night had disturbed them, their livestock had been let free to roam the forest, their animals killed and left to rot on the streets; small things that might have suggested nothing more sinister than a rogue wolf staving off starvation in winter by seeking sustenance from the easy pickings around the village. But then everything had changed again.

Without warning, people had started to go missing as well. A young woman had been the first. The teenaged daughter of the village healer. A flighty thing, it was believed at first that she had simply wandered into the woods to meet a lover and gotten lost; even her own mother thought her liable to wander away on a whim.

The wood provided but it could turn enemy in a moment for the unwary.

Search parties had been dispatched and the in light of the day it did not take long for experienced the hunters of the village to track her path through the village. They discovered her hanging from a tree branch, strung up by a length of rope not thirty minutes' walk from the main settlement. But it was immediately obvious that this was no self-inflicted death. At her feet, dangling a foot off the ground, swinging slightly as she was rocked by the wind, was a massive pool of dried blood clumping the mossy undergrowth. Prior to her hanging, her wrists had been split open and the blood leached from her body so she hung ghastly pale and limp from her noose.

Cries had gone up. Never before in living memory had they had a murder amongst them. And yet this had plainly been murder. And worse, it was a terrible one, for they knew who might have committed such a crime, although until that day they had thought it impossible. It was a legend, they had believed. Something parents told their children to keep them from wandering off alone into the Great Forest of Mirkwood and getting into trouble. But none of the adults who told it grew up believing in it for it was too fanciful.

Ghosts were not real. There was much in the forest that could scare and even kill. Those were the things to worry about, not spectres. Yet, the killing of the healer's daughter seemed to have proven it. The wounds on her wrists, the defensive cuts on her hands, the scratches on her face all matched the legend perfectly. It was hard to deny.

Terror had been unleashed upon the village and the people were restless. Patrols were sent out every night and that was when things began to escalate to unprecedented proportions. Whole patrols had been decimated. For two nights in a row, the patrols had been hunted, attacked and many of them killed. Those who survived spoke of a being that moved silently through the forest, was impossible to track and could kill with frightening ease and unrivalled speed. They spoke of this being as though it were the legend and paranoia and fear only increased.

After finding no evidence at all of a physical killer, people began to become hysterical. They believed it only came at night, when the trees were shadowed and only the lonely wandered beneath the moon. Terrified, the villagers took to sleeping together in just a handful of their homes. Safety in numbers, they believed. And indeed, the thing hunting them never attacked the village directly. It preyed on the fringe of their home.

Traps were set but every morning when they were checked they remained empty. Nothing could stop it, nothing could halt the terror. Soon, even the guards were afraid to go out and they took to simply patrolling the centre of the village around the clustered houses, protecting the villagers rather than hunting the creature. And for a while it worked. There were no more deaths. Still, it felt like a retreat and it was a mistake. The creature went unsatisfied for too long. The very next week, it attacked in broad daylight. It took three boys playing by the river and shortly afterwards it took another six women as they walked home from foraging for food in the woods.

Paranoia and terror turned to utter panic and the village elders for the first time since the founding of the village talked about abandoning their home and moving on to somewhere safer.

This night was the last attempt by the determined captain of security to restore order to his home before it was torn apart entirely. He was going to track and find this creature, whatever it was, for he was certain it was no phantom as legend told, and he was going to kill it. Even with novices at his side, he would achieve this. He had hunted worse things than whatever this monster was: he had fought wolves almost as big as him, tracked creatures for miles and miles through the rough terrain of the Forest. This was nothing overly special, just another witless animal.

"How much farther do you think?" whispered one of those along for the hunt and the captain startled at the noise, which despite being spoken under the breath seemed loud in the unnatural stillness of the forest. He turned on the spot, slowly so as to show his displeasure at the disturbance, then raised his finger to his lips to indicate for silence. The recruit snapped his mouth closed and pursed his lips tight together to prevent any further infractions.

Rolling his eyes at such blatant incompetence, the captain turned back to their path and took another quiet step forward. He had not realised when he had recruited these young potential soldiers that they would be quite so green.

His annoyance was all but forgotten a second later when the once again quiet air was split with an almost otherworldly screech. They all froze, instinct overriding training for a split second. They had heard tales of ghosts in the forest but of other things also; great black menaces that terrorised the Elves holed up in their palace stronghold, unnatural creatures that even the Firstborn could not hope to defeat. The captain's mind went to both possibilities in quick succession before he schooled his thoughts and sensibly worked through the likelihood. Ancient creatures were not entirely out of the question for the forest was old and no doubt held many secrets veiled to Men. But he did not believe in ghosts as his fellow villagers did and he would not be drawn in simply by fear and paranoia. If the village was being terrorised by some foul creature of the forest then it suited him just fine. If it was corporeal he could kill it. He had not become captain of the patrols for nothing and he had fought worse in his time than some ancient, mysterious animal.

Bolstered by bravado and the certainty that he would not be bested by anything living in this great forest, the captain stained his hearing, determined to pick up anything out of the ordinary, but once again the night was still and quiet, almost unnaturally so given the recent disturbance. It unsettled him, things being so quiet. It was as if the Forest itself were afraid to stir.

Gathering his courage about him, the captain turned to his novices, huddled together, weapons pointing out into the darkness, and motioned them forward. They were afraid and did not notice in the darkness his summons so he was forced to break the hush. "This way," he whispered and his young companions jumped as one, startled by the sound of his voice.

They began creeping again through the woods, acutely aware now that they were not alone. Something was out there and it was not afraid of making noise. In fact, it had boldly announced itself to all beneath the trees, teasing and taunting them, playing with them.

As they continued onwards, the captain frowned to himself. They were following the same path the patrols did every night. Already they had passed the places where the previous patrols had been attacked, where the civilians had been murdered. Why, he wondered to himself with a sudden cold dread, had they not yet suffered the same fate? The creature, whatever it may have been, was most certainly out there. The cry had told them that. And yet, it had not taken them. Its cry had been ahead of them he was sure. But why would it make such a racket to announce itself to its hunters? It may have been powerful and fast but surely it must fear something. Warriors with weapons and hearts seeking to destroy it would surely have given it pause or at least have made it cautious.

He stopped suddenly, aware that his novice companions almost bumped into him in succession at the sudden unannounced halt and were instilled with a new fear.

"What?" whispered one of them, daring to break the silence.

The captain was a warrior; a great hunter amongst his people. He had been trained by his father, who had been trained by his father before him – great warriors all - to trust his instincts. Such was the way one survived in the Forest of Mirkwood. And right then his instincts were screaming at him that something wasn't right. The very air seemed different, expectant.

"Something's not right," he whispered his private doubts into the dark and he heard his companions' breath catch.

"We should turn back," one of them said, voice trembling unashamedly.

Normally, the captain would have disagreed, continued the hunt no matter what. But he felt that that could well be a foolish decision that could get them all killed. So he nodded and backed up, certain now that far from hunting the creature that had been terrorising them for weeks now, they were being led right to it. They were being lured this way. He was leading them into a trap.

"Go," he called to them, shoving at the nearest warm body away from him to incite movement. They felt his urgency and turned and fled back along the path. Running in the darkness was tricky and the captain knew that they should take the way slowly so as not to fall, but the deep resonating panic within his chest spurred him into recklessness. He no longer cared about making noise. Their presence was already known and he felt eyes in the darkness watching them. "Go," he shouted loudly, throwing caution to the wind. Whatever lurked beneath the trees knew they were there; there was no point in hiding anymore.

"Sir."

They came to a stumbling stop one by one, breathless and panicked, their eyes wide in the gloom, darting about anxiously.

"What?" he snapped, suddenly angry at their lack of movement. All night they had wanted to return to the village and now that he had ordered them to flee they had stopped.

"Light, sir. A fire?" one of the novices asked as he caught his breath, pointing towards a soft orange glow filtering through the trees.

Every instinct told him to flee, to return to the relative safety of his village, mystery and challenge be damned. But he was no coward and he could not let something so curious pass him by without investigation. The hand carrying his axe shook but he boldly nodded and left the safety of the well-known path.

The firelight guided their way. It was easy to follow the glow despite the tangled roots and vines attempting to trip them up with every step. The novices followed behind him, somewhat less confident of their latest detour.

After only a couple of minutes walking, they left the cluster of trees and came to a clearing where they at last saw the source of the fire.

Each held their weapons high although they needn't have worried, there was nothing waiting for them.

Whatever damage the creature had sought to reap here, it was already done.

Cries went up amongst the novices but the captain made no effort to silence them for they were entirely justified and he felt the same moans of grief and pain rising thick in his own throat. He slid to his knees in the dirt, face contorted in grief plain to see as it was licked by the orange of the fire.

"Oh heavens," he breathed, his voice shaking as tears spilled down rugged cheeks to dampen the dry earth beneath him. He heard his weapon fall dully to the ground but he did not seek to retrieve it. He knew now that there was no hope for any of them. All was lost. He had led his men into damnation and he could not bring them back.

What horror could have caused this, he knew not. Never, not even in his wildest nightmares, had he seen such destruction wrought on mortal Man.

They lay head to toe, five of them, their bodies bent slightly, arranged in a circle. Men and women, naked in the dirt, alternately face up and face down, their bodies pale, as though drained of blood, although not a drop lay nearby. Sucked dry, the guardsmen thought through their shock. Legends, ancient tales told to unruly children, assaulted their minds, tales of vampires who sucked blood, of monsters who delighted in such tortures of the body and soul. The evidence lay before them.

There was no doubt; whatever had caused this was what had terrorised their village. These people, unidentifiable other than as Humans, had died in abject terror. That much was obvious from the look on their faces. Pure horror. It filled the woods now, the sense of terror, as though the last moments of these poor people had been trapped within the trees so their suffering could never be forgotten.

What had caused this was unfathomable.

What were they supposed to do? Nothing could alleviate such agony. Their village and all the people within it were doomed to the same horror.

Misery and shock turned to terror for the guardsmen just moments later. The captain heard his men crying out behind him. Pain overwhelmed him suddenly and he knew without question that he had been mortally injured. Slowly, he looked downwards, tearing his eyes away from the horror that lay before him with great effort. Blood joined his tears on the soil now. It flowed freely from the hole in his torso. He was lost.

In his final moments on Arda, the captain looked upwards to the night skies, just visible through the thick canopy of Mirkwood's great forest, and prayed to the deities that those who lay beside him in this glade of death would be at peace. There was nothing he could do for the poor souls. No one would find them now.

**OIOI**

**Mirkwood Forest…150 Years Later…**

The stag flinched. It knew they were there. Its ears twitched, its great head came up slowly, elegantly, eyes darting about, alert and wary even as it chewed thoughtfully on the grass it had come to this part of the Forest to acquire. Too many predators lurked in the forest to be entirely at ease and its natural caution made it difficult prey.

Legolas sighed out loud and the beast snapped its head briefly in his direction before turning crashing away through the trees with more grace than its bulk would normally have allowed for.

"What are you doing? It got away!" called an exasperated voice from behind him and Legolas smiled softly at the hastily spoken criticism.

"It knew we were here anyway. We couldn't have gotten any closer."

"We could have tried." The voice came closer and its owner was a second later perched on the branch beside his friend. A fine bow was clasped in one hand, an arrow hanging limply from long fingers as though lowered in disappointment.

"Perhaps. But it's not like we were truly hunting the poor creature."

"You were the one who wanted to practice your stalking technique, remember? I wanted to be lounging by the river on my one day off this season."

Legolas laughed, easily climbing to his feet and balancing without effort on the narrow branch. His friend followed suit. "So you have reminded me twice this morning and once this afternoon, Alassien," he grinned widely. "Come. We have done enough stalking for today; let us return to the palace and seek out some lunch."

"You know," Alassien began as he followed Legolas in descending the tree, "had that stag been a Spider, you would have been dead by now. How's that for training?"

"It's your confidence in me that has always been so inspiring."

"I'm just saying; maybe you shouldn't be so quick to retreat."

As he jumped the final few feet to land gently on the ground, Legolas looked up in false exasperation. "You were the one who wanted to leave! You've done nothing but complain since the moment we left the Palace this morning."

"It was the crack of dawn. I was tired. And are you going to turn everything back on me?"

"Yes. It suits me."

"Right, Your Highness. Well, at least this hasn't been a complete waste of time."

"Oh?"

They walked back towards the small pathways, all but invisible if one didn't know where to look; both were at ease with the Forest, knowing these trees well after years of exploring and hunting amongst them. "At least now you owe me one."

"Do I now?"

"Indeed you do. Remember what you said." Alassien dropped into a flawless impression of his companion. "'Help me and I will do whatever you ask of me'."

"Did I say that?" asked the Prince of Mirkwood casually.

"You did. I recall it perfectly." Alassien tapped the side of his head to indicate the memory was trapped securely within.

"No doubt."

"So, are you going to keep your word?"

Legolas looked back, smiling still. "Have I ever been known to break my word?"

"Well…"

"Ha! You dare to impugn the honour of your prince?"

"I would never, my Lord," laughed the other Elf, giving Legolas a gentle shove in the back to speed him up. The faster they got back to the palace the better. Lunch awaited them and he was starving after their wasted morning stalking whatever prey they found only to release it before a single arrow was released.

"I should think not. Elves have been exiled for less."

"You forget, Legolas, that the king loves me. He would never exile me from Mirkwood, no matter what my crime toward you."

"You think not?" Legolas teased lightly, glancing over his shoulder.

"I am invaluable, indispensable."

"Truly?"

"Yes. Now back to my favour."

"You have something to ask of me then?"

"I do. It's about…Well…"

"Yes?" Legolas prompted at his friend's stalling. He had a feeling that he was going to enjoy this request.

Somewhat more awkward than he was used to being, especially around one he had always deemed a good and honest friend, Alassien pushed back his hair from his shoulders and cleared his throat. He may have been embarrassed by his request but he was not going to pass up the opportunity of a favour from the Prince. "It is about Elarinya."

Legolas' musical laughter echoed around the trees and Alassien startled at the volume then reddened at the reaction, busying himself watching a flock of birds disturbed by their presence take to the skies.

"I should have known. You have been moping around for weeks. It had to be a pretty maiden that occupied your mind."

"I have not been moping."

"Are you in love?" Legolas cooed with a laugh.

"How would I know? I have hardly had time to speak with her. Which is where you come in."

"You want me to speak well of you to her?" Legolas asked, only mildly sobered now.

"No, I want you to introduce us."

That completely broke any calm Legolas had managed to gather within himself. He laughed loudly at his friend, pausing in his search for the pathway to lean against a bent tree trunk for support.

"She doesn't even know you?"

"I'm glad you're having such fun with this. I ask one favour of you…"

"And of course, my friend, I am obliged to do as you ask. But, you couldn't have chosen someone you actually _know._"

"Laugh all you will. I know that we would be well together." Alassien pushed past Legolas firmly and made his way through the undergrowth in spite of his friend. "Where are we?" he asked when he suddenly realised that he didn't recognise the terrain. Behind him, Legolas was still laughing to himself, seemingly oblivious. "Legolas," the dark haired Elf snapped, gaining the Prince's attention. "Where are we?"

"You have no doubt led us off track," Legolas accused, smiling but no longer overcome with his amusement.

"You have been leading us. I have been following."

"Oh, that's right." It was no small thing to become turned around in the forest. Two warriors as they were should have known better. Mirkwood remained a terribly dangerous place to live, even though the Elves ever sought to bring peace back under the trees. Both warriors dropped all traces of humour, hands inching towards their weapons even though neither heard nor sensed any signs of danger. "Stay down here and keep watch; I'll climb the tree, see if I can get our bearings."

Alassien nodded, drawing out his bow and nocking arrow in one swift motion, his eyes moving smoothly from the forest around him up into the tree tops. The dangers that were about were myriad: Spiders, Orcs, Goblins, even the terror of the Wraiths said to dwell in dark Dol Guldur. He was taking no chances, especially as this was a rare occasion where they were alone and no guard followed dutifully behind Legolas to keep him safe.

With his friend keeping guard below, Legolas lightly ascended the nearest tall tree, climbing until he was above many of the other younger trees. Shielding the sun from his eyes with his hand, he gazed out over the tops of the green trees and was relieved that all around him was similar greenery; they had not inadvertently wandered close to the shadowed keep of Dol Guldur. Looking all about him, he smiled when he spied the glistening peak of the palace in the distance. They were not so far off track.

Legolas was about to return to his friend on the ground when something else caught his keen eyes. He frowned into the sunlight, squinting in an attempt to better his vision but it was no use. The breeze blew the tree tops too erratically for him to see clearly.

As he climbed down to where his friend was waiting, Legolas knew already that he had to check out what he had seen. His job, his calling, his very heritage prevented him from not assessing this unknown quantity within the bounds of Mirkwood's forest. He knew Mirkwood well, having spent many a day touring the vast land and almost as long defending her against the Shadow that had long ago began to invade it. That he could not recall seeing that small clearing with its strange glinting white stone confused and concerned him.

Alassien was far from pleased at their unexpected detour, although he made no effort to conceal his relief that danger was not imminent and they had not become completely turned around. However, he dutifully followed Legolas as he led the way through the undergrowth for he would not abandon his Prince. He had followed Legolas all over Mirkwood, from childhood forays inside the stronghold, to their extended patrols all around the Forest and he knew the King's son extremely well. He knew that once Legolas put his mind to something there was no deterring him and the best thing was simply to remain close and hope for the best.

He might not have had any idea where precisely the strange place he had observed from the trees was located, but he knew the general direction and that was enough for Legolas. His instincts guided him true and after a while of struggling through the overgrown Forest the two Elves emerged into the clearing and stopped short.

"What?" Alassien muttered to himself at the strange sight that greeted them.

Legolas shared his sentiments. He wasn't sure what to make of it either for it was not what he had been expecting. It looked like some kind of monument. The gleaming white the sun had been reflecting off of that had caught Legolas' eye from the treetops turned out upon closer inspection to be some kind of tombstones. Ten of them in total. One circle of five surrounding a smaller one. They were all relatively small. Smooth stones etched with writing and drawings. And yet Legolas could tell that they had been rendered with some care and maintained well to be kept so clean and bright.

"They appear to be grave markers," said the prince aloud as Alassien joined him after a cursory inspection of the site.

"Yes, they do."

Indeed, they looked like markers of some kind and neither Elf could think of anything other than denoting the presence of graves.

Legolas was confused though. He knew of no Elven memorial that rested this deep within the Forest. Most Elven monuments rested well within the Stronghold where they could be honoured by the living not hidden away where they could be forgotten. Nor did Legolas know of any Human settlement anywhere close by. Many of them rested still on the borders of the Forest and, although remaining in the lands of Thranduil King, remained for the most part isolated from the Elves. Even so, Thranduil kept a close eye on them and knew much about their customs and movements. This was not a custom that had been observed, to isolate one's dead so completely.

"Have you ever seen anything like this?" Legolas asked his companion softly, circling the rings of stones carefully, being cautious as to where he positioned his feet. Whatever this place was and whatever it represented, he felt it deserved respect. If this was a memorial of some kind, then he was required to honour the customs surrounding it. So he trod carefully, trying to figure out what this could mean.

"Never."

Neither Elf had drawn their weapons, neither felt any danger. And yet there was something about this space that set Legolas on edge and he could feel Alassien felt the same; not danger but something else.

A light breeze blew through the clearing and both Elves suddenly shivered. It was Spring in Mirkwood and although there was a slight chill, it was nothing to the ice cold blast they had just received. Being Elves neither felt the cold acutely. For something to make them each shiver was quite remarkable.

Legolas crouched beside one of the stones, leaning in close to see the markings. He was unable to decipher them though. The writing was worn down, as if battered by the weather, even though the stone remained perfectly clean and glistening white as though it had been placed there only recently – or often cleaned and maintained. Running his fingers over the etchings, Legolas determined that this was no Elven script.

"This writing looks almost that used by Men," Alassien spoke aloud. "One of the Human settlements maybe?"

"I do not recognise the writing. All of the settlements around Mirkwood, have you ever known them to bury and honour their dead in this manner?"

Alassien shook his head. "No. But the ways of Men can be obscure to us."

Men, the two Elves knew, preferred to cremate their dead rather than bury them, believing that the souls should be returned to the heavens. Elves returned their dead to the ground to nourish the earth; but Legolas was convinced that this was no Elven burial ground. There would be no point honouring the dead so far away from the Elven stronghold. Besides, every grave within Mirkwood was an elaborate memorial, public or personal. The Elves did not take death lightly. It was too finite for them to understand with ease and so when it did happen, which in a kingdom on the brink of all-out war with the Shadow of Arda, was all too often now, they built splendid memorials in memory of those who had given their most precious lives for the defence of their kingdom, where people could come and honour them and give thanks for their sacrifice for the bettering of the Kingdom. This was no grand Elven memorial. And yet clearly it held meaning for someone.

"This site is old," determined Alassien, having once again circled the clearing. "I would say abandoned if not for the state of the stone. Someone seems to have been maintaining it." The foliage around the graves was overgrown, although kept away from the stones, as if only the white blocks were of import and nothing else.

"Alassien, take a look at this," Legolas called and his friend turned to find him on the other side of the clearing, crouched low, inspecting the ground. Joining him, Legolas explained, "Tracks."

"Someone has been here recently."

"Mourners?"

"Maybe. But after all this time? The memories of Men are not long like ours. They forget their dead over time."

"What do you think then?" asked Alassien, his own confusion having grown almost unbearable. He despised a mystery within his Forest.

Legolas straightened, casting one more look around. "I think we should return later with more people. Perhaps some of the other patrols have reported other sites like this around the forest, or maybe someone will have some idea what this could be. Either way, this warrants investigation. The King does not appreciate the unknown within his Forest."

"Do you think it means something? The way the stones are arranged is unusual."

"Perhaps. Although what, I cannot imagine."

Alassien nodded in agreement. There was nothing much more they could do but report this. Perhaps someone else in Mirkwood might have better luck figuring out what it represented.

"Come," Legolas prompted, tapping his friend on the arm to gain his attention. "Let's return to the Palace. We can get you something to eat."

Alassien smiled, the tension and concern dissipating. "At last."

Knowing that there was nothing more they could do about this odd discovery, Legolas led the way away from the clearing. Both friends talked about what they had found. Neither could reason it away but they both found that they were exhilarated by the discovery; fighting Orcs and Spiders within the Forest had become almost routine but finding a genuine mystery was something else entirely, something to nourish their minds.

They were so distracted by their on-going as to what it could be that they found, that they barely noticed that the Forest had changed around them. Legolas knew that they were on the right track, on a much-used road heading back towards Thranduil's Stronghold and, despite all his training, his guard was down.

The first thing he noticed was wrong was something so small that others may well have missed it. Suddenly, he stopped dead, arm flung out to halt Alassien at the same time. The other Elf stopped, reaching for his weapon for he too now could tell that something was wrong. The Forest, usually brimming with life, had fallen deathly silent. Not even the trees swayed in the breeze that tickled Legolas' face, no insect chirped, no creature scurried. Everything was silent.

Legolas reached for his knives, eyes darting around. Alassien was just as alert, watching and listening for any physical sign of the danger they both sensed. But there was nothing overtly worrying. The air was not fouled by the smell of Orcs or disturbed by the skittering, shrieking of Spiders. Whatever disturbed the two Elves they were convinced it was not something they had faced before.

In silence, Legolas moved forward, placing each foot with expert precision to make the least amount of noise possible. He was following nothing but his instincts, trying desperately to focus around the terrible chill that had formed and shrouded him and Alassien. They had not moved more than a twenty paces before Legolas got some idea of what had upset the creatures of the Forest so. As he swept aside a bent tree branch with his arm, he caught scent of something in the air. The unmistakeable smell of death.

It was a smell he had grown used to since the Shadow came to Mirkwood.

Still uncertain what awaited him, he inched forward, Alassien following close behind, guarding his rear in case of attack. Eventually, Legolas found the cause of the disturbance, but it was not what he had expected. Pushing aside more overgrown branches, he found himself in another unfamiliar clearing. This time there was something more startling than merely curious headstones. His breath caught in his throat at the terrible, cloying smell and he fought back the reflex to gag.

Lying in the very centre of the small clearing, which seemed to have been completely stripped of grass, were the objects of death that polluted the Forest. Bodies. Five of them in total, men and women, stripped bare and laid face down in a wide circle, each body completely outstretched, hand touching foot.

Behind him, Legolas heard Alassien gag and step back, shocked by the sight. There were no obvious signs of battle but Legolas was not surprised by that. No Orc or Spider could do such a thing. Orcs were ravenous creatures who would sooner tear their prey apart than arrange it in such a manner, and Spider kills were almost always dragged up into the trees, cocooned in webbing and paralysed by poison before being consumed for food. This was something else altogether. And it was like nothing Legolas had ever seen.

Sharp eyes scanned the edges of the clearing, searching for danger, but now that the sense of danger had cleared off upon discovering the source of the Forest's disturbance, he felt no need for further caution. Sheathing his knives, Legolas took a step into the clearing, shrugging off Alassien's hand imploring him to go no further.

Carefully, he walked to the bodies closest to him and, covering his mouth and nose with his hand, bent to get a closer look. These were Human, without a doubt. None had the features of the Elves, not from Mirkwood or any other of the Realms. Legolas could not place simply from the looks of them where these Men had originated though. There were multiple Human settlements around the Forest; from looks alone it would be impossible to judge. Curious though, he thought, that Thranduil, to the best of his knowledge, had received no reports of Men gone missing. It had happened in the past that messages were sent to Thranduil's palace detailing the disappearance of one Man or another and the Elves patrols would be dispatched to find them and return them safely. More often than not, it was simply a case of wandering off track, despite the Elves' continuous pleas for caution, and getting lost. Legolas did not know if the same fate had fallen upon these men and women but he knew for certain that this was no accident. These people had been positioned and he had no clue for what reason. This was no ceremony observed by any of the Human settlements. A shiver passed through him again and suddenly he felt the strong desire to run from this place and never return.

"Legolas," Alassien whispered and Legolas knew immediately that his friend's thoughts echoed his own.

"Let's go," Legolas told the dark haired Elf in a low voice, backing away and keeping his eyes roving around the outskirts of the clearing the whole time. His instincts might have told him that the danger had passed but he knew that the Forest could deceive.

With Alassien hurrying ahead of him, Legolas turned and dashed after him, taking note of where this place was so that he could direct the patrols to it when he returned to the palace. The gravestones might have been a curiosity but this was most likely malevolent and that troubled him deeply. Mirkwood had enough problems without some unknown evil entering the land and bringing about some new terror to the besieged Elves.

They reached the palace in record time, Legolas speeding past the startled guards with merely a nod of acknowledgement to their bows. He left Alassien behind to speak with the Captain of their Guard whilst he proceeded directly to where he knew his father would be holding court with the tradesmen of the kingdom. He would be irritated at being disrupted; getting so many of the traders in one place had been no small feat in the first place, but Legolas deemed it important enough to cause such a disturbance.

"Excuse my interruption, my Lord," he announced when he pushed through the doors and the room fell from excitable conversation to silence. "Your Majesty," Legolas bowed low to his king then addressed the rest of the room, "Ladies, gentlemen. Your Majesty, I beg your pardon but I must speak with you on an urgent matter."

Thranduil looked around the table at the gathered traders, all of whom were too stunned at the Prince's sudden appearance in the doorway to rise as protocol demanded. Deciding that it would be too much hassle to remove all of the men and women from the room, Thranduil stood himself, wincing at the scraping of chairs as everyone rose too out of respect.

"If you would excuse me for a moment. I shall return shortly," he told them all, moving around the table toward the door. He nodded to the servants waiting quietly at the edges of the room, motioning for them to provide the guests with drinks during the break. Then he motioned his son through the door and out into the hall where they could speak in private.

"Forgive me, Father, for disturbing you."

"What is it? I thought you were in the Forest with Alassien."

"I was. Father, we found something…something terrible."

Thranduil knew immediately when something was wrong with his son and he knew to take Legolas' concerns seriously. "What did you find?" he asked, his attention more focussed now on his son.

Legolas quickly relayed their findings in the Forest to his father. The ten stone markers then the more disturbing find of the five Human bodies. Thranduil was naturally startled and more than a little concerned by the finding. A strange burial place he was oblivious to in his Forest was one thing, but evidence of death, most likely murder, was another thing entirely. It was deeply unsettling.

"This is very troubling."

"Alassien is reporting to the Captain right now. I hope to lead out a patrol within the hour to investigate further."

"Good."

"I should go now, Father, and see to the patrol. I only wanted to inform you as hastily as possible of this development."

"And you were right to. I thank you, Legolas. Your vigilance is vital to the safety of our home." Thranduil spoke as a king in praising the prince for fulfilling his duties but when he next spoke it was as a father to his son. His hand came down onto Legolas' shoulder and he looked deep into blue eyes so very like his own. "You are shaken," he commented certainly.

Legolas nodded his confirmation slowly, perhaps a little surprised by his reaction. "I do not know why I should be. I have seen much death."

"You have seen much _war_," Thranduil corrected. "From what you describe, these were not the deaths of soldiers. It is so terribly different."

Again, the prince nodded then straightened as Thranduil removed his hand. A second later Alassien came around the corner, quickly bowing to his king upon seeing him. "Excuse me, sir. Legolas, we are ready."

Breaking apart, Thranduil went to return to his meeting whilst Legolas joined Alassien. "I expect a full report upon your return, Legolas."

"Yes, Sire."

As he returned to the conference table, Thranduil found it difficult to get back into what they had been discussing prior to the disruption. His son had been rattled by what he had seen in the Forest and so too was the king disturbed. Ever had the Shadow preyed upon the innocents of Mirkwood and ever had the forest been defended, but it could not be denied that they were losing the battle. The Orcs seemed to grow more plentiful every year and the Spiders were becoming bolder. And now even the trees themselves were turning against the Wood Elves. Were they to lose everything they had ever had in this fight? Every week Thranduil was informed of another injured or another killed in the line of duty. They fought to protect their home from the scourge of the Shadow but it kept coming at them, never faltering, never slowing. And every day they were up against more. Sometimes Thranduil could not bear it. He thought about the peace that lay beyond the Sea and wondered whether they wouldn't be better off leaving the trees to the Shadow and settling somewhere beyond pain and loss. But every time he would be reminded that he could not leave. He and his people loved their forest home too much to abandon it, for it was not merely a place to build their homes, the Forest was a living, breathing thing and Thranduil was duty bound to protect it just as much as he was the people living within it.

Sighing to himself, the King of Mirkwood shook off his dark thoughts and returned his attention to the discussion going on around him. At least he knew for certain how to beat the tradesmen. He just wished sometimes that it didn't involve hours of sitting through their petty squabbling.

**OIOI**

"It was here," Alassien confirmed, striding into the centre of the clearing and turning about as if he might have missed something standing on the edge with his fellow guardsmen. "It was right here!" The other soldiers joined him, looking all about themselves. "Legolas?" demanded Alassien, spinning to face the equally mystified prince.

All eyes turned on Legolas and he nodded in turn. "This was the place."

"Perhaps you were mistaken on the route, my Lord?" suggested the lieutenant of the patrol. "Could the bodies be somewhere else?"

"No," Alassien insisted in Legolas' place. "This was it. We walked exactly the same path, backtracked identically. Did we not Legolas?"

"Yes. There is no doubt. This is the place. Truly."

"No one is doubting that, Legolas." A hand fell on the prince's shoulder and he looked up gratefully at his minder. "I only wish I had been here and seen it for myself."

"A fine day you chose to take a break, Beriogelir," the prince smiled ruefully at his minder.

"Perhaps someone moved the bodies?" another soldier suggested.

The lieutenant, Landion looked to the ground, inspecting the grass with a practiced eye. "I see no signs of recent activity, nor that anything has been placed here."

"Then what do you think it was we saw?" Alassien demanded somewhat hotly. "Or do you believe we made the whole thing up?"

"Landion is not saying that," Legolas spoke up from looking at the untouched grass.

"Of course not. I am merely trying to make sense of what is happening here."

The prince straightened, eyes scanning the clearing once more although there was nothing to see. "It will be growing dark soon. We should seek out the other place Alassien and I told you of. Let us hope we find answers there. Come."

It was easy for the two Elves to lead the way to the first site they had stumbled across in the forest. But it offered them no peace when they did find it. Just as the previous clearing, this one was empty. Where there had been curious white stones set up as eerie memorials, now there was nothing but grass slightly trampled by the passing of deer through the area, not so much as dents in the soft ground where the stones had rested.

"This is impossible!" exclaimed Alassien, again stalking around the perimeter in frustration. "It was here."

"Tell us again what you saw here," prompted Beriogelir, directing his question primarily at Legolas.

"They looked as memorials but the writing was not of our people. I have not seen the like."

To be certain that nothing was amiss, Landion ordered a thorough search of the entire area but it proved fruitless. There was nothing out of the ordinary in the vicinity. Once the guards had all reported back, the lieutenant ordered them all to return to the stronghold. Darkness would be upon them soon, for they had searched long to find answers, and no one wanted to be caught out in the depths of the forest at night time.

Only Legolas and Alassien remained behind as the others retreated back into the trees.

"Tell me that I am not losing my mind here. You saw what I saw, did you not?" asked the dark haired warrior of the prince, an edge of fear in his voice.

"Yes, I did."

"Then…What? How is this possible?"

"I do not know."

"What do we do now?"

"Report back to the king. We will tell him everything we saw and ensure that patrols more regularly sweep this area."

"You think this smells of the Shadow?"

"I know not what else it could be; although I have never heard of an incident similar to this one. Whatever it is though, we must be on our guard. Something about this is not right."

Somewhat calmed by the fact that Legolas had not dismissed his fears, Alassien nodded and slowly turned to follow his fellow Elves back to the stronghold. Legolas, however, lingered a moment longer. While he might not have aired his frustration as freely as his old friend, he felt it nonetheless. Some evil was stirring in Mirkwood. He just knew it. Nothing felt different. Just as before, no danger prickled immediately at his senses calling him to attention, but his instincts warned him that something was coming. There was more in Mirkwood than Orcs and Spiders and he feared that soon Thranduil's people would feel the true weight of that horror.

"Legolas?"

The prince startled at the sound of his name being called and he looked over his shoulder to find his minder waiting for him, a quizzical look upon his face.

"We should return to the palace now."

"Yes, I am coming."

When he made no move to do as he said, Beriogelir joined him in the centre of the clearing. "We will get to the bottom of this matter, sir."

"Then you do believe what we have said?"

"I have no reason to doubt you, Highness."

Legolas nodded, comforted. He was good friends with his minder since childhood. Beriogelir rarely used his title, preferring to simply address him as Legolas when out of official company. Whenever he did pull out the regal title it was usually to boost his charge's ego or soothe his fears. That he did it now did indeed cheer Legolas. He had the respect of his peers. That mattered.

Sighing, the prince shook his head. "What is going on here, Beriogelir?" he murmured.

**To Be Continued…**


	2. The Crime

**Fear Itself**

**By**

**Freddie23**

**A/N: Thank you so much for all your lovely reviews. I appreciate them so much. **

**To MoonSurfer: No Aragorn in this one I'm afraid. And no, there will be no slash. **

**Ok, let's get on with the story. Hope you all enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing created by Tolkien and I make no money from this story.**

**Rating: K+**

**Chapter 2 – The Crime**

Legolas lay in his bed staring at the ceiling. After staring at the same flat plane of stone for the past three hours, he had memorised every inch of the smooth stone above his bed, even in the dim light of the moon that shone through his window. Sleep evaded him tonight despite the draining events of the day. His mind was too full of questions to which he could find no answers and it was proving extremely frustrating.

He wanted to do something. He wanted to discover what had happened in that clearing, what had made him and Alassien see the strange stone markers, the rotting bodies of Men arranged so carefully as though in some kind of macabre display meant just for the two friends. His earlier report to Thranduil had been frustratingly vague and he hated being vague with the King, especially when the security of Mirkwood was at stake.

Rolling over onto his side, he closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind enough to be able to sleep. All to no avail.

Sighing heavily as he finally admitted defeat, Legolas sat up and propped himself up on rumpled pillows, rubbing his hands down his face.

He knew he had not imagined those bodies, five arranged in a circle, pale and pathetic lying in the grass as though positioned for maximum impact, although no evidence had existed when he had taken his patrol of experienced Elves to investigate. They had looked at him oddly on the return to the Palace, he thought. They were unsure of his assertion that something was amiss. And it could well have been something from the imagination, such was the strange feeling they had all experienced in that place, unlike anything ever experienced in Mirkwood before, even in the presence of the dreadful stone construction of Dol Guldur nestled deep within the trees.

But they were not from his imagination, Legolas reassured himself. Alassien had seen them as well. He remembered the look of horror on his friend's face, remembered the smell and sense of death all around them. That was unmistakeable. Even now, hours later and following a hot, fragrant bath, he felt death clinging to his skin, invading his mind.

Who were they, the slain? Men and women certainly, but from where? Was there somewhere on the outskirts of Mirkwood someone missing them, mourning them?

They should have been given proper ceremony. For although death was all too common amongst mortal Men they respected it almost as much as the Elves and they honoured those who had passed from Arda with ceremony and memorial. Would these six unknown, unidentifiable people now become lost souls? Wandering forever in darkness? The thought made him shiver. What had they done to deserve such a fate? He feared he knew the answer already: they had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Nothing more.

Legolas knew little about the ways of Men, their wonderings on what occurred after death – it was something he had very little reason to concern himself with – but he felt a chill run through him when he thought about those lost souls.

Could they find peace, he wondered. Perhaps their souls fled their bodies upon the moment of death and they went somewhere they felt no pain or despair. He hoped so. He hoped they were not left rotting inside their mortal bodies, lying without dignity or respect in the dirt. Another, darker and far more unexpected thought entered his mind as he laid thinking upon the matter: what if they were still in Mirkwood? What if their souls, upon leaving their bodies, had become trapped within the Forest? That would explain the strange feeling he and Alassien had experienced, surely.

Shaking his head to rid himself of these dark, ghostly thoughts, he told himself that he was being absurd. Men might have thought the forest of Mirkwood haunted but the Elves were more practical. The forest no more harboured the souls of dead Men than it did the souls of the Elves.

Legolas threw the covers aside and abruptly climbed to his feet, quickly lighting a candle and setting a lamp ablaze so the room with filled with comforting warm firelight. Somehow, he felt better with a source of light close by. Something to chase away the shadows.

He went to the balcony and threw open the doors he had locked before retiring, concerned about what might be out there in the forest. The air was fresh and cool and he breathed in deep. It smelled of rain. Soon Mirkwood would be caught in a downpour, he was certain. The familiar sounds and smells of his home reassured him, although his eyes were drawn to the treeline. All seemed quiet. The branches of ancient trees swayed in the breeze. It looked darker than normal, he thought, narrowing his eyes. Was it all in his imagination? Did the forest look more threatening because of his knowledge of what mysteries it now held within? Of course. For nothing had changed. It was the same forest as before. It was only his perception that had changed.

The night was quiet and Legolas leant against the balcony railing, letting his eyes fall closed as he drank in the peace of his kingdom. It was false testimony, he knew. Somewhere within that mass of black and green a war raged. Patrols were, even as he stood watching, struggling to fight back against the increasing Shadow and soon he would be joining them once more, as he had done many times in the past years.

Fighting Orcs and Spiders was one thing. They were solid, physical beings that could be defeated and Legolas had faith that eventually the forest would be cleansed of their evil. But what he had seen earlier was different. It was pure evil that he found he could not scrub from his thoughts. For all his attempts, there it remained, taunting, sullying and worrying.

Sighing again, he slammed his hand down on the railing and immediately withdrew it as pain flared. He looked down in surprise at his reddened knuckles. He was not usually one to anger easily and yet now, as he thought of that ring bodies, anger raged inside him, bubbling, threatening to boil over at any moment. He flexed his aching fingers then balled them into a fist again. As quickly as the feeling had come, it passed, leaving him feeling rather foolish. His hand would be bruised come the morning.

Suddenly, the calm of the night was shattered. A scream pierced the air and Legolas startled, standing suddenly up straight and searching for the source out in the dark forest. It was some distance away, he guessed, although the stillness of the night had carried it well.

Everything had gone still almost immediately afterward, leading Legolas to wonder whether he had actually heard it at all or whether it had simply been a figment of his imagination.

Moments later, there was movement below. The guards who stood watch around the Palace were moving away and heading towards the settlements set some way from the King's fortress home. This startled Legolas almost as much as the scream. What had they seen that would make them abandon their post?

He turned around and fled back into his room. Within a moment, he was pulling on his jacket over his nightwear and searching for his boots, tossed carelessly to one side before he had retired just a few hours ago.

"Your Highness!"

His door was flung open and Legolas jumped, instinctively reaching for the knife that rested on his bedside table for emergencies. The fine blade would not be needed just yet, however. It was only Beriogelir, his loyal minder.

"What is happening?"

The minder ran into the room and Legolas immediately knew it was serious. The bodyguard did not intrude unless it was a matter of great urgency. He ran to the balcony doors, which in his haste Legolas had left standing open, and pulled them closed hard, latching the lock and pulling the thick drapes across.

The guard's actions meant only one thing: Beriogelir feared for his life, Legolas realised, his heart pounding hard in his chest.

"What is going on?" asked the prince again, more firmly this time, demanding an answer even though he knew his old friend would not keep the truth from him for longer than necessary.

Beriogelir took a few minutes more to ensure the room was entirely secure, checking the windows, looking in all the rooms, even peering under the bed. He took no chances with the Prince's safety even though he was aware the chances of there being someone hiding in the room were remote. Procedures were in place for a reason and he was duty-bound to follow them no matter what the situation. When at last he was done, he ordered the other two guards, who were stood in the doorway as sentinels, to retreat outside.

Turning to the patient Prince at last, he said breathlessly, "There has been an attack."

Legolas' mind immediately went to his father and he grabbed his friend's arm hard and asked in panic, "The king?"

"Secure."

Breathing a sigh of relief, Legolas stepped back, releasing his friend. "Thank the Valar. Now, please tell me what happened."

"We received a report a little after sundown of a problem in the Stronghold."

"What sort of problem?" Legolas asked, wondering at why the guard was being so cagey.

"Sir, there has been a murder."

Nothing Beriogelir could have said could have surprised Legolas more than that. He repeated the foul word 'murder' under his breath, as though testing it, hardly believing such a thing was possible even within shadowy Mirkwood.

"A guardsman?" he asked after a moment, thinking that surely this must have been someone killed during an altercation, therefore almost certainly one of the guards posted all around the Stronghold.

"Civilian, Your Highness. In the settlement beyond the Palace walls. A mother and father slaughtered."

Civilian. Legolas could hardly believe what he was hearing.

"You said 'mother and father'. Then there is a child also?"

"Yes, sir. A little girl according to initial reports. She woke to find them both dead."

Slowly, Legolas moved to sit on the edge of the bed, slightly concerned that his wobbly legs wouldn't hold him up for much longer. There was a question he needed to ask, the question he dreaded, the question Beriogelir was waiting for. But he feared its answer and so had to take a few moments to build up enough courage.

"Kinslaying?" he finally whispered, as though the word could conjure all kinds of horrors upon Mirkwood simply by being uttered aloud.

It was unthinkable, surely. An Elf could not have done this deed. To kill any creature out of anger was against Elven beliefs, but to kill one of their own was wicked beyond any crime on Arda. Elven life was sacred. It was to be cherished, not destroyed. And to do so was perhaps the worst crime one of the Firstborn could commit.

"I do not know, Your Highness. I believe they will be coming for you soon. Landion will wish to report to you."

Silence fell between them, each lost in thought. Legolas felt sick to the stomach at the thought of what might have occurred within his home this night. He could scarcely believe any of his people capable of such a crime. A murderer possibly walked among them even as they spoke.

A banging on the door startled both Elves from their thoughts and Legolas quickly gained his feet but it was Beriogelir who answered the door.

"Landion requested the presence of the Prince."

"Alassien?" Legolas hurried forward, surprised to see his friend stood at the door, clearly sent to fetch the Prince. "I am needed now?"

"Yes, sir."

Locking eyes with his bodyguard for barely a second, Legolas swept past both of them out into the corridor. Alassien immediately hurried to catch up, falling into step beside his friend, and Beriogelir and the two other guards moved into position behind him. They would not leave his side this night, not until absolutely certain no danger would present itself.

As he walked, Legolas glanced sideways at his friend. What Alassien was doing on duty this night, he knew not; it was not scheduled. Nevertheless, the other Elf was dressed in his uniform, weapons secured at his sides and on his back. His face was grim, paler than usual, his green eyes darting around constantly, as though checking for danger even within the Palace walls.

"What do you know?" Legolas asked after a while, nodding to the guards on the door as the grim party passed them by. He had not met a single palace worker so far, even though many worked through the night. The corridors had been cleared, people held in their rooms or in public places until it was deemed safe for them to leave. Legolas knew that he would be the one delivering that order, hopefully very soon. Whatever this was, it was on his head now.

"A murder, my Lord. Two, in fact. Male and female. One survivor. A little girl."

"How? How did it happen? Have you seen them?"

Alassien paled even further, if that was possible and he took a deep breath as they at last stepped out into the cool night air. "Yes, I have seen. But I had no chance to inspect. Lieutenant Landion took charge of the scene then sent me to fetch you. There was a lot of blood. It was everywhere. It looked to have been a knife attack. Their throats were slit. But…"

"But what?" Legolas prompted as Alassien stalled in his briefing. He had never seen his friend like this before.

"You…You have to be there to understand," the guardsman shook his head apologetically.

Legolas nodded, deciding not to press matters just yet. Lieutenant Landion would give him a full, detailed briefing when they arrived at the house. "What about the King? Do you know if he has been briefed yet?"

"Yes, sir. Lieutenant Landion dispatched someone to brief His Majesty before he sent me to you and to advise him to remain in his quarters for the time being."

"Good." Much as Legolas valued his father's opinion in all matters, having him at the scene would only complicate things. No one could do their jobs when worried about his safety. "Anything else?"

"No sir."

Legolas frowned. So far, Alassien had been relentlessly formal, uncharacteristically so. For all the horror and severity of this crime, Legolas rather expected different from his oldest friend. That the guard was rattled was not in question. But there was something more.

"Alassien, what is it? Why did you respond to this incident? You were not on guard duty tonight."

"I…I heard it all, Your Highness." The guard slowly came to a stop and Legolas did the same, their entourage pausing behind them. "I heard the cries. I heard the child crying. I was just passing by, returning from an errand in the settlement." Legolas thought he must have been returning from an evening with Elarinya, the maiden he had been spending so much time with lately. "But I did not investigate. I thought…I thought it was nothing. Then when I heard about the incident, I went back…I could have stopped it."

"No, my friend. I am sure it is not so," Legolas assured, laying his hand on Alassien's shoulder. "I am sure you could not have…"

"You don't know that. A Kinslaying, Legolas," he whispered desperately, moving closer to the blonde Elf so they couldn't be heard, even though there was no one around to overhear. "I turned a blind eye to a Kinslaying." His hands trembled, balled into fists at his sides. "What does that make me?" Tears spilled over, rolling down his cheeks, which immediately flushed before his hand came up to wipe away the moisture. He was angry at himself. He knew how to control himself better than this. He was a member of the Mirkwood Guard; he must be in command of himself at all times, not fall apart. "Forgive me," he said, briefly meeting sympathetic blue eyes. "This way."

They started walking again, this time Legolas hurrying them along. He wanted to get to the scene as quickly as possible. A part of him was desperate to prove that this was all a mistake, that it was not a Kinslaying. Anything could have done this crime. Slitting of the throat was not reserved to the Elves, although it was a quick and clean method of killing Orcs that was taught in the training rooms to the novice guards. However, Orcs could have done it, smashed into their home and killed them. Maybe even Men. It was not impossible for them to get into the Stronghold. It had happened before. But why that family? Why not go to the Palace where the more valuable political targets were?

A soft orange glow alerted Legolas that they had arrived at their destination and he felt a knot of nerves twist in his stomach. He had seen death before, soldiers slaughtered by Orcs and by the Giant Spiders that hid high in the Mirkwood trees. But this was different, he thought as cold sweat prickled his neck and back. This was a murder, committed, he presumed, by Elven hands. He didn't want to do this. The childish part of his brain pleaded with him to run and only years of training and a strong sense of duty kept him from getting as far away from the house as possible.

There was certainly no shortage of people around. Guards, clearly distinguished by their green and brown uniforms and weaponry, stood around the house, some clearly guarding, others merely gawking. Others, civilians, were also crowded around, drawn from their homes by this commotion in the middle of the night. They stood clinging to one another in fear, faces pale, eyes wide.

The crowds parted to let Legolas pass. A few heads bowed as they recognised him but he set his features grimly and continued onwards, paying them no heed.

"Your Highness," greeted Landion, his own features pale even in the orange light, coming simultaneously from torches lit outside the house and the stronger glow from within. Legolas didn't think he had ever seen the lieutenant look as grief stricken as he looked in this moment and his heart clenched again, for Landion was not stranger to violence and bloodshed. Whatever awaited him within must surely be terrible.

"I have been briefed," Legolas started, ignoring the greeting and glancing in the direction of Alassien, who remained a little way back, as though reluctant to approach the house again. "Please fill me in." It was not that he didn't trust his friend's report, but shock worked in strange ways and he didn't want to take the chance that Alassien may have missed something important.

When Landion spoke, his voice was all professionalism and Legolas appreciated that. Alassien's report, so full of halting emotion, had only served to unnerve him. He needed command and strength right then. "Neighbours were drawn from their homes by cries. Reports vary on the time. Some say up to an hour ago. When they went to investigate, they found the bodies. Someone ran to inform the nearest guard on duty; they came and sealed the house immediately then informed me."

"Did anyone see anything?" the Prince asked, his eyes going to the gathered crowd. That many people, someone must have seen something. "Someone running from the house, perhaps?"

"We have been questioning everyone we can. So far, nobody saw anything or anyone entering the house or fleeing the scene. But no one was looking, so…" Legolas nodded in understanding. No one kept a close eye on their neighbours in this part of the Stronghold. It was considered the safest part of Mirkwood, excepting the Palace itself. "But I don't think a lack of witnesses is going to be a problem."

Landion led him towards the house, Beriogelir and the two other bodyguards following closely behind. They would not leave Legolas' side until certain there was no danger to their prince.

"Why not?" asked Legolas as he followed dutifully.

"We think it was a murder-suicide."

Legolas stopped in his tracks just short of the door. Just when he thought this couldn't get any more disturbing.

"What?!" he demanded.

Landion looked beyond Legolas to where Alassien stood, silent and pale amongst the other guards. "Alassien didn't tell you?"

"No."

"It looks like Taurvantian first killed his wife then slit his own throat."

"Taurvantian? I recognise the name."

The lieutenant nodded. "I thought Alassien would have told you…"

Growing impatient, Legolas snapped, "Let us assume that Alassien never reported to me at all. It will make things move along far easier." He was irritated by the lack of details he had received and promised that he would speak to his friend later about his conduct. On official duty, he expected professionalism, even from old friends.

"Yes, sir. Taurvantian was a server in the Palace kitchens but he also worked sometimes as a gatherer in the forest. Perhaps your patrols have come across him; he is friendly with many of the guards. His bonded, Siladhiel, was a maid, also in the Palace."

Legolas shook his head. "I don't recognise her name."

"She was."

"Their throats were slit?"

"Cleanly, yes."

"The healers have seen them?"

"Briefly. Long enough to determine the method of death. Although they will come back later to clear the house. A lot of people are in shock; something may have been missed."

Lowering his voice, Legolas leaned in close and whispered, "From now on let us have a little professionalism here, Landion. We cannot be seen to get this wrong."

"Yes, sir."

As a lieutenant in the Mirkwood Guard, Landion was used to being given orders, even directly from the Prince as he tended to spend a lot of time among the guards. He did not like the censure, but knew in this instance it was probably deserved. A lot of people were disturbed by this scene, it was far from a usual occurrence, but they were guards and healers, they were trained for this and it should have been handled better. Landion did not doubt that later their Captain, Daugon, would offer up the very same lecture, although he would not be as diplomatic as Legolas.

"Should I continue, Your Highness?"

"I want to see them for myself."

What he could glean from the site of the murder that the other guards and healers had not, Legolas didn't know, but he still felt like he had to see for himself. It was his duty. These were his people who had died. He owed them his respect.

"Through there. The main bedroom."

Slowly, Legolas made his way through the narrow corridor, taking note of the house as he went. When he had arrived, he had assumed that it had been the guards who had lit the candles and lamps within the house, making it unusually bright. But now he realised that they had been burning for some time. Why they had been lit, he could not guess.

The home of Taurvantion and Siladhiel was simple, crafted from wood, a second floor creeping up into the trees, as many homes in Mirkwood did. Despite its small size, it was homely, comfortable. Due to the encroaching Shadow, many families had had to recently move closer to the Palace to be enveloped by the King's protection. This was just such a family, Legolas guessed. The Stronghold was cramped and people lived in small quarters. But they made the most of it, building talans in the trees, comfortable places.

Softly, he padded down the corridor towards the bedroom. When he peered through the doorway, he saw them immediately.

The room, like the others, was brightly lit, every lamp and candle burning brightly. It illuminated perfectly the scene of total horror that dominated the room. The once pretty room was splashed with blood. It covered the bed, dripping down onto the floor, where it had gathered saturating the rug.

The bodies lay on the bed, head to foot. Taurvantian's hand was still gripping the knife, itself thick with congealed blood. His own throat was slashed awkwardly, his head resting at an unnatural angle upon the bedspread. His bonded lay with her head resting on the pillow, as though she had laid down to sleep and been caught unawares. Her neck was also slit, although it seemed deeper than Taurvantian's, more brutal somehow. Legolas could see bone exposed beneath the blood. He had all but beheaded her.

What really caught Legolas' attention, however, as well as the blood, were their faces. Pale and ashen as expected from the dead, but there was fear also. No, Legolas thought, not merely fear. Terror. Absolute terror.

Never had Legolas seen anything like it before. Not through all his battles in the Forest nor his visitations to Dol Guldur. He didn't think he'd ever seen such brutal death, even at the hands of the Orcs.

"Your Highness?"

Landion's voice broke his trance and he turned sharply. He couldn't look at it any longer. Pushing past the lieutenant, he dashed through the corridors and out into the night. He needed to be out of that house. It was not merely the deaths of two Elves, innocents who had never in their lives seen battle or done anything to warrant such a death, but the feeling of complete evil that permeated throughout the entire place. It seeped into him, clinging to him, making it almost difficult to draw breath.

Once outside, he took a deep breath of the cold night air, letting it fill his lungs and drive away the horror of what he had seen. People were looking at him and he turned away to face the house so at least his face was concealed. Landion was stood in the doorway, watching him. He did not seem surprised by the reaction; perhaps he had seen it often this night. Maybe he had been through it himself already.

Beriogelir was at the prince's side, his hand on his shoulder in concern but Legolas shrugged him off. "I'm all right." He took another deep breath but the death was cloying. Once he had gained his composure again, he looked to Landion and asked as strongly as he could manage, "There was a child?"

"The daughter," confirmed Landion. "The healers took her to the healing halls in the Palace. I spoke to her briefly when I first arrived but she was too distraught to speak anything of sense."

"We'll need to speak with her eventually."

Landion nodded, "As soon as possible."

"You said the healers took her? Was she injured?"

"Not at all."

Legolas frowned. Why two deaths when there could have been three? "An oversight?"

"Perhaps. Hopefully when she calms down we'll be able to get more details from her. She might have seen something. Or maybe she heard something and hid so she couldn't be found."

"Lieutenant Landion."

Both Legolas and the Lieutenant startled at the booming voice, each of them coming swiftly and automatically to attention – a force of habit long since instilled in them. Daugon's voice was unmistakeable.

"Ah, forgive me Prince Legolas. I didn't realise you had arrived already." The Captain of the Mirkwood Guard bowed when he reached them. His face, like everyone else's, was grim. Legolas wasn't sure where he had been all this time but he was certain the Captain had already seen inside the house and listened to the accounts of what had happened, for he wore the same look of distress as everyone else. In battle, he was formidable, Orcs ran in fear from him, but in the face of a Kinslaying he was as upset as the rest of them. "Landion has briefed you?"

Acknowledging the welcome, Legolas nodded. "In great detail."

"Good. I have briefed the King myself."

"He remains in his chambers?"

Daugon nodded. "And there he will remain until the Stronghold is secure."

Legolas was pleased to hear this and he knew fully well that Daugon and himself were just about the only two people in the Realm who could order the King to do anything. Thranduil listened to them even when he didn't like it for he knew that to them security was the most important thing and they would let no harm come to their king.

"I will brief him as well," Legolas informed the Captain, moving away from the house. "I trust you and Landion can handle the questioning. If anyone saw anything I want to know. Daugon, report to me in one hour. I want to hear everything you have learned, no matter how trivial." His eyes moved to the Forest; it still looked dark, imposing and he suppressed a shudder with sheer effort of will. Something felt wrong tonight. "And send a patrol out into the Forest."

"Yes…" Daugon halted, surprised. "Into the Forest, sir? Surely our resources will be better utilised here, guarding the house?"

"The damage here has been done already. Besides, there are plenty of people about. Every guard in Mirkwood is awake and alert tonight. I want someone in the Forest."

"And what shall I tell them to look for?"

Frustrated, Legolas turned around on the Captain of the Guard and snapped, "Anything out of the ordinary. Anything at all! Is it so difficult to comprehend that whoever – or whatever – did this might be loitering in the treeline?"

"No, sir," Daugon said softly, not used to being berated in public by the Prince. They usually enjoyed a very relaxed relationship. Legolas was his commanding officer on a technicality only. He had been born into the job. And Legolas knew this all too well. More often than not, he would defer command to Daugon, trusting that the older, more experienced Elf would know what to do in any given situation. Very rarely did Legolas issue an order so direct. Those normally arrived from the King.

Nevertheless, under the circumstances, Daugon was obliged to obey Legolas in this matter and arguing would not change that.

"I'll get a patrol out immediately," he finally said as Legolas turned smartly on his heel and headed back towards the Palace, Beriogelir and his two guards following closely behind.

As he passed Alassien who remained staring blankly at the house, Legolas said perhaps a little more coldly than necessary, "I want to speak to you later too."

Given the pace he was setting, Legolas did not notice that Alassien didn't so much as blink at the command. In fact, he never even heard the order. All his attention was focussed on the house, as though he couldn't tear his eyes away from it.

**OIOI**

"There can be no question," explained Eruedraith, the Palace's chief healer as he pulled the thick blanket up to cover the body, which lay on a bed in the Palace healing halls. "It was suicide."

Legolas looked away, although the image of that pale body, the head a ghastly mess of pale skin and dark blood, was imprinted on his mind and he feared he would see it for the rest of his days. He sighed heavily, his eyes looking to the maiden, already covered and lying in the bed opposite her partner's.

"And Siladhiel?" he asked softly.

The healer walked over to her and went to lift the blanket but Legolas revealed it was not necessary. He had no desire to look upon another body this morning.

"Is there any chance she was a suicide also?"

"No." The ancient, learned healer stepped away, wiping his hands on a damp cloth that smelled strongly of herbs Legolas didn't recognise. "She was definitely murdered. By her partner's hand from the looks of things."

"He killed her then himself."

"It's unlikely to be the other way around." The injection of humour was not appreciated and the healer muttered an apology under Legolas' severe gaze. "It is unusual though. Cutting one's own throat is not easy to do. In fact, as I am sure you are well aware, it is extremely hard. The blade he used was a common knife, found in several places throughout the Palace and Stronghold, including the kitchens where I understand he worked. It was sharp, but it was no fighting knife. Her death might have been quick, provided he used the correct force, but his would not have been. In fact, from the marks on his neck, it took him a couple of goes before it got deep enough that he would even bleed out. Horrible way to die, Your Highness."

Legolas winced at the very thought. What had possessed Taurvantian to do such a thing? As far as anyone knew, they were a happy couple, blessed as few had been in the past few decades with a child. They never argued, never so much as rowed. And yet, in a seeming moment of madness, he had murdered her and killed himself.

And why a knife? There were easier ways. If he had killed Siladhiel in a moment of passion – highly unlikely although it had fast become the only theory anyone could come up with – and then been so overcome with remorse that he felt the need to take his own life, then why not do it in a quicker, less gruesome way? There was no shortage of rope in the house. He even possessed strong herbs, which when mixed together would surely have provided a peaceful way to die.

Nothing made sense to Legolas and the more reports he received from Daugon and from the healers, the more confused he became.

"Anything else?" he asked wearily of the Eruedraith who had been tasked with looking over the bodies.

"One thing I found odd," the healer said softly, moving towards the male body again. Legolas feared he would pull back the cover once more and he had no desire to see again the mutilated corpse. But this time, the healer merely pulled one of Taurvantian's hands from under the blanket. "At first, I thought this was a cut made by holding the knife incorrectly. He has a couple of them on his hands, as one might expect. But…" He held out the hand for Legolas to see. "It seems a pattern, don't you think?"

Indeed it was a pattern, Legolas thought. Five small cuts, arranged in a circle on his palm. Not random.

"Do these appear on Siladhiel?"

"I missed them at first. The wound on the neck took priority." He pulled back her covering entirely, revealing the pale, naked body beneath. Legolas felt embarrassed to look. He had not known Siladhiel and it felt somehow wrong to look upon her thusly. However, something caught his eye and he forced himself to look despite his discomfort. On her stomach, the same mark, much smaller and neater than Taurvantian's. Five cuts arranged in a circle. "It's the same mark. These are not accidental cuts. He carved it into her, probably before she was killed judging by the blood I found around it."

"Do you have any idea what it might mean?"

"Not a clue."

Legolas nodded for the healer to cover her back up. "Thank you for your help. If you find anything else, please let me know. And I'll expect your official report as soon as possible."

"Yes, sir."

Leaving the healing hall and its grim occupants, Legolas took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He despised the place more and more with each visit. Beriogelir waited for him patiently until Legolas finally looked to him. "We need to report to the King again."

"Yes Your Highness."

They started walking side by side. Beriogelir had dismissed the other two guards, certain that the Royal Family were in no specific danger for the moment. He remained wary though, eyes darting about constantly, searching for any possible trouble.

"Well, do you have any thoughts?" Legolas asked after a moment.

"I beg your pardon?"

Legolas looked to him and continued, "You've been with me all night, you've heard pretty much all I have. Do you have an opinion about what happened?"

Beriogelir sighed deeply and shook his head. "I do not, my Lord. But I have heard whisperings. People are afraid. They fear a Kinslayer is on the loose in Mirkwood. People have been boarding up their homes, putting extra locks on their doors."

"Unnecessary."

"Perhaps. But they are afraid."

Soon Thranduil would have to address them about the happenings of the night before. The people could not be kept in the dark for long. Legolas wanted to wait until they had all the facts but this news, that people were scared for their lives in Mirkwood, was deeply troubling and he knew Thranduil would soon have to console them. They had, after all, lost two of their kin to perhaps the worst crime the Elves knew of.

"I understand that." They continued on in silence until they reached the King's office, where Thranduil waited for an update from his son. "You should wait here. It would be better for me to do this alone."

"Yes, sir." Beriogelir stood to attention outside the doors, opposite Thranduil's own personal guard. He did not envy his prince and friend his task. Briefing Thranduil was tricky at the best of times, and Legolas now had to explain about the Kinslaying again. What the King would make of it, he didn't like to think.

One thing was for sure, in one night, the Woodland Realm had been changed dramatically and he didn't think it would soon forget Elven blood spilled on its soil.

**To Be Continued…**


	3. By Fire

**Fear Itself**

**By**

**Freddie23**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing created by Tolkien and I make no money from this story.**

**Rating: K+**

**Chapter 3 – By Fire**

"Come, child. You must go to bed."

The child in question looked up from the fire burning brightly in the hearth. She blinked large green eyes once, as though awakening from reverie, although it was obvious from the shadows under her eyes that she had found no rest. Her small body shuddered once despite the heat and she blinked again up at her aunt.

"But I am not tired," the little girl moaned softly almost to herself after a moment.

"But you must be," her aunt said with a small smile of sympathy. She crouched down beside her young niece who sat facing the fire on the woven rug. "Come now. I have prepared you a bath." She climbed to her feet gracefully and held out her hand for the child to take.

"Can I not stay up a little while longer, Aunt?" Haldaraina asked, her eyes widening in an attempt to inspire sympathy in her mother's sister.

"No, you must not. It is late and you are weary."

How hard it was to stand up to the child, thought Rainyaviel as she gestured with her hand for her niece to gain her feet as requested. Those big green eyes, already so filled with sadness were heart-breaking, so much so she could hardly look at them for more than a moment. Even now, she turned away, motioning towards where the bathtub was filled with warm water.

"Come now."

Haldaraina got up slowly, stretching out her small limbs and casting one last look into the fire. She followed her aunt into the bathroom and stood waiting patiently as the taller Elf checked the water temperature once more. Just a few days ago, it would have been her mother doing this nightly ritual. Now she lived with someone she had only ever seen on special occasions, with whom she had nothing in common. Tears filled her eyes and threatened to spill but she forced them back. She had shed enough in the past few days and she noticed how uncomfortable it always made her new guardians. Better to pretend for the time being. Everything would turn out all right eventually. That had been what her father had said to her just before the screaming began to fill their small house down the road.

Rainyaviel gently helped her niece undress and lifted her into the bath, handing her a bottle of sweet-smelling liquid. Her actions were slow and uncertain, the actions of one unused to caring for a while. The couple had no children of their own and much to her own discredit, they took little interest in the raising of her sister's child. Now, she wished she had paid more attention. It might have made this awkward transition easier.

It didn't take long for the little Elfling to wash herself off. Not that she was dirty. All day, she had sat in the lounge before her aunt and uncle's roaring fire, staring into the flames until her eyes stung, partly lost in thought and partly blissfully unaware of anything that had happened before, focussed only on the fire and nothing more. She did not feel like going out to play. Play was a happy past-time and she did not feel happy. There was a heaviness to her heart that she had not experienced before and it weighed her down so that even getting up seemed a chore.

"There now, doesn't that feel better?" cooed her aunt as she was lifted, dripping, from the warm, fragrant water. "Towel yourself dry while I fetch your nightclothes."

By the time Rainyaviel returned a minute later, Haldaraina had rubbed herself and her hair dry and was stood in the centre of the room, towel wrapped around her, shivering slightly at the chill. Her aunt knelt before her and, for no reason whatsoever, started rubbing her again with the towel. She fought to keep from rolling her eyes. Her mother would never have done that. She had trusted her daughter with the night-time routine. Once more, however, she bit her tongue. This was not her mother. This was someone who had no comprehension of her past routines, who despite everything was doing her best in impossible circumstances.

When she had first been brought here, her uncle had told her that she would grow used to living with them. There had been tears in his eyes and sincerity in his voice. She only hoped he was correct. At the moment, however, the situation was almost intolerable.

"What is this?!" Rainyaviel suddenly exclaimed, making Haldaraina jump as the sudden noise startled her from her thoughts. For a second she feared her aunt could read her thoughts and was shocked by them, as she rightly should be.

"What, Aunt?" she asked when sense returned a split second later and she realised her thoughts remained her own private musings.

Soft fingers probed her back, just below her right shoulder and she attempted to crane her neck around to see what had interested her aunt so.

"These cuts, Hal. Where did you get them?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know, Aunt."

"Eglerion!"

Again, Haldaraina jumped as her aunt shouted for her uncle. It took a moment but he soon appeared, smiling in greeting at his young niece.

"What?" He was rubbing his hands on a cloth, having just been clearing out the stove. There was a black smudge on his cheek and his clothes were stained. He could use the bathwater more than her, Haldaraina thought with a suppressed giggle.

"Keep still, child," admonished her aunt as she gestured for her partner to come closer.

"What is it?" he asked, joining Rainyaviel.

"Look at this." She prodded the marks once more. "Did the healers tell you of this?"

He bent low to examine the series of scrapes on his niece's skin and shook his head. "No, they said nothing." Taking her shoulder, he angled her to the light of the lamp, running rough, stained fingers over her skin. "Does this hurt, my love?"

"No, Uncle." She answered honestly. She didn't even know what was causing such a stir.

"Hm." He stood again and stared at the mark for a while, considering. "Perhaps she got it while she was outside, playing."

"She has not been outside once. And she will not play," hissed Rainyaviel, shaking her head. "Do you notice nothing?"

"Then I don't know what to tell you. If it is not hurting her, then I wouldn't concern yourself. It is probably an old scratch that just hasn't had chance to heal yet." He lowered his voice as he added, "You know, she had a massive shock. It is not surprising."

Rainyaviel sighed and began pulling a nightdress over her niece's head. "Perhaps you are right. If it looks worse in the morning though I am taking her back to those healers. They assured me everything was all right. Although I should expect nothing less from the Palace Healers, anything to get us out of the way."

"Now, now, my dear. We should not say such things." He nodded down to Haldaraina who was watching them both with interest. "Goodnight, my love." He kissed his niece on the forehead and returned to the kitchen to continue with his chores.

"Well, your uncle has spoken, so I suppose we shall leave it at that."

Haldaraina was guided into her bedroom. Or the room she had been assigned. So far it didn't look like her bedroom, as the only thing that was hers was the stuffed doll she had taken with her from the house that night her parents had left. Everything else was generic. She had been given a spare bedroom, which her uncle had been forced to clear out for her. The bed was not her usual comfortable one, the sheets smelled slightly musty and her aunt never left a lamp burning low at night as her mother had done.

Sleep came rarely in her new rooms. Eventually, her aunt had assured her, they would have her things brought from her old house, so that she could be surrounded by the familiar. For now, no one was allowed near the place and her repeated pleas to return were blatantly ignored or dismissed as ridiculous.

"Into bed now," coaxed Rainyaviel, pulling back the covers for her. "Come, lie down."

She did as she was asked, climbing onto the hard mattress and picking up her doll from where it rested upon the pillow. Her aunt laid the covers over her and she pulled them up against her chin.

"Goodnight, my darling. Sleep well." Rainyaviel pressed a kiss to her niece's forehead and smoothed back damp hair. "Sweet dreams."

"Aunt Rainyaviel?"

The older Elf paused at the doorway and looked back with a patient smile on her face. "What is it, little one?"

"May I keep the lamp tonight?" Big eyes looked at the oil lamp her aunt carried in her hand.

"Whatever for? You will not need light in your sleep."

"But…"

"It is not practical to keep lamps burning all night long. Go to sleep."

With that Rainyaviel stepped outside with the lamp and pulled the door closed behind her, leaving only a thin sliver of light coming from the hallway, which Haldaraina knew would soon be extinguished completely.

Alone in the quiet room, the small child sat for a while in bed, hugging her stuffed doll tightly to her, eyes looking about the room, thinking of what had been lost to her. She would never see her old room again, her belongings, her parents. It was like she had been ripped apart and now everything must be built anew. However, in spite of all her protests, she was weary and by the time her uncle looked in an hour later before retiring to bed himself, the small Elfling was sound asleep.

**OIOI**

A thump woke her. She was certain it was a thump. Or maybe it was a bang. Either way, it was loud enough to disturb her rest. Jarringly, she sat up in bed. The covers had slipped off her at some point and covered only her legs. It was chilly in the room, but she didn't want to risk retrieving them just yet. Better to find the cause of the disturbance first.

She looked around her room in the darkness but everything seemed quiet and still, just as it should be. Noise outside told her that it was raining, but it was not the low rumbling of thunder that she had heard.

Sitting very still, she listened intently for a while. Nothing. Perhaps it had been a dream, she thought to herself, finally reaching down and pulling up the bedclothes. Her doll remained clutched in her arms and she held it tightly. If only she had the lamp, she might have been better able to deal with the disturbance.

Convinced that nothing bad was in the room with her, she laid back down, dragging the blanket over herself to ward off the chill, and closed her eyes. However, a moment later it came again. There was no mistaking it this time. A thump. Close. Very close, in fact. Underneath her. Fear paralysed her and she ceased even to breathe for a moment. Something was under her bed.

She wanted to cry out. To scream for help, but when she opened her mouth nothing would come out. She was all alone in the dark and there was something under her bed. But what? What could possibly be there? She didn't know but her mind immediately conjured all kinds of possibilities. Monsters she had heard other older children speaking about, stories told by her parents. Everything went around in her mind as she laid there trying to get her uncooperative body to move.

"Uncle." The word slipped from her lips at last, but it was little more than a whisper and would not be heard beyond the confines of her own bed.

Immediately, she regretted speaking at all, because a louder bang came from beneath her and she thought she saw a shadow skitter across the floor. Bringing her legs up to her chest in one swift movement, she clutched at her doll and the blankets, as if those flimsy pieces of material could save her.

"Uncle." A little louder this time, but still not enough to wake her sleeping relatives. They were only in the next room, but to Haldaraina they might as well have been on the other side of the mountains.

"Uncle."

"Child." A hiss. Not even that. A whisper from beneath her bed drew a cry from her mouth, which was muffled by the blankets and therefore as useless as her cries for her guardians.

"Uncle." Almost a full word this time. But not enough. Still not enough.

"Child, come to me."

The voice was quiet but in the stillness of the room and with senses heightened by fear, she could hear it clearly. It frightened her, for it was not a natural voice. There was something haunting about it. And yet, she felt strangely compelled to remain where she was. Terror by now should have given her strength enough to move, make a run for her aunt and uncle's room next door where she would be relatively safe. But she did not. In fact, her even body relaxed a little, and although she shook with fright, she did not feel the desperate need to flee.

"Do you hear me, child?"

She nodded into the darkness and although the voice was clearly coming from under her bed, it seemed to know her answer.

"Do you fear me?"

Again, she nodded, her hands wringing the blanket.

"Do not be afraid. I am your friend."

Friend? None of her friends would hide under her bed and do anything so mean as this, she thought.

"Do you want to be my friend?"

She did not. The voice frightened her. And yet…there was something compelling about it. Enticing. She thought she could be friends with it. So she nodded, although there was reluctance behind the movement.

"Good. I am very lonely."

"Why?" This time she spoke aloud, although whatever was beneath her seemed to have no problem knowing her answers without them being spoken.

It seemed pleased by the verbal answer though for its voice was a little louder this time, although painfully sad. "All alone."

Sadness swept over her in a consuming wave of emotion that drew tears to her eyes once more. She knew what it felt like to be all alone, for she was already.

"You know," it breathed into the darkness.

She nodded. "Yes."

"Be my friend."

"Yes. We can be friends."

This was absurd, she thought to herself. Children did not befriend the monster under their beds. They ran to their parents who swiftly got rid of it with candlelight and harsh words. Except, she thought with a pang of grief, she had no parents anymore, no one to protect her. They were dead. Gone. Tears filled her eyes and this time she let them fall, for her guardians would not be woken now.

"Are you alone?" asked the soft voice with sympathy.

"Yes."

"Your family." This time, it was a whine, a keening cry and she winced, afraid that it would wake the sleeping couple next door. She didn't want them to come now and interrupt her time with her new friend, strange thought it might have been. "All gone."

Tears fell freely now and she cried out, "Yes. Gone." For a moment, she cried, her face buried in the blankets, her hands clutching at her doll. When she looked up she feared the thing under her bed had gone as well, but then she heard the soft singing. "What is that?" she asked of the tune, for she did not recognise it. She couldn't say it was pleasant. Rough and not like the songs of the Elves at all.

"It is a lullaby."

She screwed up her nose. "I don't like it."

It laughed at her and she laughed back, her grief put to one side for a moment. Suddenly, she moved onto her knees and shuffled to the edge of the bed so she could peer over the side. There was nothing there, even in the dark she could tell that. So she asked, "Can I see you?"

Silence for a long time followed. She worried that she had frightened her new friend away. Cocking her head to one side, she listened intently, praying for an answer, not wanting to be alone again.

"Not yet," came the reply some minutes later and Haldaraina released the breath she had been holding. "Soon."

"I won't tell anyone you're here, I promise."

"Good, child."

Suddenly, there was a crying from beneath her bed and she startled, sitting back at last. "What's wrong?" she asked, concerned.

"So sad," it keened again.

"When I'm sad, I hug my doll." She hugged it tightly now as if to demonstrate. Then a thought entered her mind that made her smile again. "You can have it if you like. It might make you feel better as it does me."

The crying stopped as abruptly as it had begun and there was silence for a full minute before the wispy voice asked, "Can I?"

"Of course." Slowly, so as not to startle her new friend, she leaned over the edge of the bed and laid the doll on the floor. To her amazement, the stuffed plaything was dragged slowly under the bed by some unseen force, moving miraculously across the floorboards and disappearing into the darkness to join whatever creature had befriended her. This should have frightened her but it did not. She found it wondrous. "Do you like it?" she asked hopefully.

"Very much." There was childish laughter, soft, as though from a distance and Haldaraina laughed in turn. "I have to go very soon. Will you do something for me?"

"Anything. Please don't go yet."

"I won't. Not just yet."

"What do you want me to do?"

It was true, she would have done anything for this new friend. She had known it for less than an hour and yet she felt closer to it than to her own family.

What it wanted filled her mind and she marvelled at the power to deliver thought without words. 'Go to your aunt's bedroom and take the lamp. Pour out the oil onto the bed and light it with the flame.'

It didn't make sense. But it was what the voice wanted and she had promised she would do anything. She could not renege now.

"Promise you won't go."

"I'll wait."

With this assurance, she jumped out of bed, casting a brief look underneath although she saw nothing but darkness, and padded barefoot across the room. Her aunt and uncle's door was open a crack. All was quiet and dark inside. They were asleep. The lamp was set upon their dresser and she had to stand on tiptoe to reach it. A big metal thing, it was heavy and she had to struggle to carry it with both hands. Her father had always told her not to touch such things for they were dangerous and fire was not to be played with, but the voice of her new friend had assured her in her head that all would be well and that she would not get into trouble. Why she was doing this was beyond her. But she would have done anything to please her new friend.

She struggled to pour out the oil. The lamp was heavy and the latches fiddly for her little fingers, especially in the darkness. When at last she did get it open, she tipped it up. The oil smelt bad and she swallowed back a cough, not wanting to wake her sleeping guardians, as it poured out, as much across her own hands as her guardian's bed. It stained their bedclothes but they did not wake at the smell nor at the dampness that seeped into them both.

There was no fire in her guardians' room so she went into the living room, where the fire remained burning low so the house did not get too cold. She lit a candle from its embers and returned to her aunt's room. The candle was growing hot in her hand. She didn't normally like fire. It scared her. Except for now. Now, as it had earlier before she had gone to bed, it fascinated her. She looked into the flickering candle, ignoring the hot wax that dripped onto her hand and burned it, with a smile.

"Go ahead."

The voice came from the doorway but when she looked around there was nothing there. Her friend was waiting for her to do as she had promised.

"Alright."

She dropped the lit candle onto the stained blankets that covered her parents and was forced to step backwards as the small flame suddenly exploded into a much bigger one that scorched her face and hand and immediately ignited the whole of the bed in one swift movement.

"Good, child."

"Now what?" she called above the roar of the flames and the sudden screams from her aunt and uncle as they writhed beneath the growing fire.

"Now, we wait."

The heat was unbearable. It hurt to stand near it. But she took a couple of steps back, aware that the hem of her nightdress was even now smouldering, and sat down in the chair by the window, somehow knowing that she had to stay until the end, until her friend gave her leave to go.

She watched in fascination as Eglerion fell out of bed with a thump and a scream and started crawling desperately for the door, dragging the flaming blanket behind him and only succeeding in spreading the fire further. Through the flames, she could see the colour of her uncle's skin change as his clothes burned off him and the fire attacked flesh and fat, turning it first red then black then back to red. He screamed constantly and she covered her ears for she didn't like the noise. Nor did she like the smell that was filling the enclosed room. It was foul. More than just acrid smoke, it smelled like burning meat. It was sickening and she covered her nose with her hands instead.

Her feet hurt now and a part of her brain knew that the fire was spreading closer to her. She looked down to find her nightdress completely aflame up to her knees. She kicked one foot but found it was already burned, black skin peeling to reveal red flesh beneath. There was no pain though, just a pleasant tingling sensation and a nice warmth, like sitting close to the fireplace in winter time.

Always the voice of her friend whispered in her ear, alternating between reassurances and the unpleasant lullaby it had sang earlier. Soon, it promised, they could play together; two lonely people now friends, together making life bearable again. it was a lovely promise and she looked forward to the moment immensely.

Rainyaviel was still lying in bed. She was no longer moving. In fact, she had barely moved at all since the flames had first taken hold. Perhaps she was still asleep, the young Elf thought, or maybe it was the shock. Either way, she was glad she didn't have those judgemental eyes looking at her anymore, pretending to love, pretending to mother.

Haldaraina couldn't help but smile to herself as the voice whispered, "If only she'd given you the lamp tonight as you wanted." It made sense, she thought with a giggle. Perhaps if the very lamp she'd use to start the fire had rested burning in her room it would have chased away her friend. She would not have wanted that. She loved her new friend already. But it was a reassuring thought all the same.

A little while later, the screams had died down and her uncle lay in the hallway, a still, burning lump, serving as nothing but fuel for the ravenous fire. The bed was engulfed in flames that lapped at the wooden ceiling, making it smoke and smoulder in turn. Her aunt was no longer recognisable. Haldaraina swung her burning feet back and forth in the chair and waited, fascinated at the way her movement made the flames dance. The room was filled with smoke and it was making her cough, making her feel lightheaded, but it was not an unpleasant feeling, not with her friend singing to keep her calm.

"Can I come with you soon?" she asked to the flames as they lapped at her hair and caught on the drapes behind her.

"Of course, Child. Come with me now. We can be together."

She saw the shape materialise from the fire, just as it had promised. Tall and strong, like her father had been before he had taken the knife from the kitchen and slaughtered not just himself but her mother as well as she watched in amazement and awe. The spectre now stood before her was wreathed in flame, although white and burning brighter than the rest of the room. She thought it held out one hand to her and she held up her own hand in greeting, fanning already consuming flames.

The fire welcomed her and she leaned back into the heat, let the flames take her over. At least she was not alone anymore. She had one friend in the world and he would look after her now.

**OIOI**

"This was no accident."

Legolas startled, realising the healer had been speaking to him and he had been paying absolutely no attention whatsoever. "I'm sorry, could you repeat…" He pried his eyes away from the small, covered shape on the bed to his side and focussed instead on the healer. "I wasn't listening," he admitted, bowing his head slightly by way of apology. "Please, continue."

He had been expecting some censure from the healer but he saw none in that ancient face. Only sadness and he understood how hard this must have been for Erudraith, despite all his long years of experience as a healer and eventually personal physician to the Royal Family of the Woodland Realm, had surely felt pain at having to examine not only his third body in as many days, but also that of a child. Legolas vowed silently to himself to pay better attention from now on. The healer had earned that respect.

The pale-haired healer pointed to the blanket, beneath which the hand of Haldaraina rested. Mercifully, he did not feel the need to uncover her. Legolas didn't think he could stomach seeing that again. Once had seared the image into his brain forever.

"Oil. Her hands smell very strongly of it."

"Lamp oil?" Legolas shrugged, purposefully not looking at the covered corpse. "Perhaps she attempted to put out the fire."

"Unlikely. For her hands to still smell of the oil even after the fire ravaged her, she must have fairly doused herself in it."

"Why would she do that?"

"Lieutenant Landion told me they found a lamp amongst the ruins and it was almost certainly that which started the fire."

"That's correct." When the healer didn't speak for a long time, Legolas came to realise what it was he was suggesting and his eyes widened, automatically looking towards the covered body in shock. "You cannot be suggesting that Haldaraina started the fire herself."

"How else would her hands be so covered in oil?"

"Impossible. She's just a child. Perhaps it was an accident."

Erudraith shook his head sadly. "I do not think so. The child remained in the room."

"She could have been trapped."

"But she didn't try to escape. Landion told me they found her seated in the room. The door was open, the window was latched but unlocked. She could have escaped if she had wanted. But she didn't." He paused again. His pale face twisted in horror at the next words, "It's almost like she set them alight and then sat down to watch."

"She is…_was_ just a child!"

"I know." Erudraith raised his hands as though to ward off any verbal assault Legolas might have thrown at him. "I am merely relating to you the most likely scenario. I fear that your Lieutenant will echo my findings."

Legolas sighed, bowing his head in misery and admitted, "He already has. The front and back doors were both locked. No one else was inside that house. Haldaraina could have gotten out at any time. But she didn't." He stopped. The thought was almost too awful to imagine. "Why would she do such a thing?"

"I don't know. I am afraid that without testimony from a witness, we may never know."

"No one saw or heard anything until the flames were spotted by the Woodland Patrols."

The two Elves stood for a long time, both lost in their own thoughts. Indeed, Legolas had thought of little else since he had received news of the fire that morning. Nothing seemed to make sense, however. The horror of it all had attracted some unusual theories already and people seemed to almost delight in relating them to Legolas, but not one of them was good enough to satisfy him.

"What of the aunt and uncle?" Legolas finally asked, breaking the silence much to the relief of the healer.

"Burned to death," he stated simply. "No other wounds on them."

Thinking back to the murders of Haldaraina's parents, Legolas asked, "What about those strange marks on Taurvantian and Siladhiel? Did they appear on Eglerion or Rainyaviel?"

"The burns destroyed much of the tissue. If they did ever possess the same mark, it would be almost impossible to tell now."

"Alright. Thank you."

"Anything else I can do, let me know."

Legolas nodded; he feared the healer would have much to do in the coming days. A chill rippled through him that had nothing to do with the natural coldness of the examination room they stood in. He reached for the door handle but was stopped when the healer said softly, "It wasn't a coincidence, was it? Haldaraina being killed two days after her parents died in an equally brutal manner. It couldn't be a coincidence."

How he would have loved to have denied this, for the idea that this had been purposeful made him shudder. But he could not lie.

"No, I don't believe her death was coincidental."

"What – or who – could have done this? Kinslaying, Your Highness, I know of no worse crime and it has been committed five times already. What is happening?"

"I wish I knew."

With that, Legolas left the healing halls, relieved to be out of the stuffy place. The moment he had walked in there to receive a personal report from Eruedraith he had wanted to escape. The usual smell of the herbs he normally associated with the healing rooms of the Palace had been replaced by the sickening, unmistakeable odour of burnt flesh and it turned his stomach. And when Eruedraith had pulled back the blankets, one by one, to reveal the twisted, burnt bodies of the tragic family, he had been forced to look away, clutching at his stomach, afraid he would lose what little breakfast he had had time to consume that morning. Fortunately, Eruedraith had been understanding about his squeamishness and had covered up the remains up again, waiting patiently until the prince had calmed his stomach enough to listen to the report.

Striding through the corridors with a concerned Beriogelir behind him, Legolas headed straight outdoors. He needed to breathe fresh air, even if only for a minute, to get the acrid smell from his nose.

If only he had answers as to what was happening in his home, it might be easier to bear. But it didn't look like answers would be forthcoming. What worried him more than anything was that there had already been five deaths. How many more could there be before they got to the bottom of this? The thought terrified him. Utterly terrified him.

**To Be Continued…**


	4. Balance

**Fear Itself**

**By**

**Freddie23**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing created by Tolkien and I make no money from this story.**

**Rating: K+**

**Chapter 4 – Balance**

Screaming. All he could hear was screaming. It filled his mind, made his body tremble. It was on the air but also it was inside him, as though his very soul was thrumming with the intensity of it. He lifted his hands to his ears but that didn't help. The sound was inside of him now. He could not escape it. It grew shriller and louder, until he could not bear it and he sank to his knees in the soft leaf-litter of the forest floor. All around him, the animals cried out, the trees wailed as they swayed in the breeze. It seemed as if all of the Woodland Realm was in pain. Or terror.

"Stop," he tried to say, but he found his words were drowned out and even he could not hear them for the screaming. The source was unidentifiable. It was loud but came from no specific source that he could determine. All the same, he wanted to escape, so he gained his feet with some effort and stumbled through the trees.

The forest was bright. Sunlight streamed through the treetops, creating stunning brightness all around Legolas. Normally, he would have loved the light but now it hurt his eyes, as though the light itself was as bad for his soul as this incessant screaming. Closing his eyes, he moved with all the speed he could manage blinded, searching for somewhere peaceful.

But everywhere he went, it followed him. He felt hysteria building in his chest and he dropped again to his knees, for the pain that had been steadily growing in his head was making him dizzy now. Groaning aloud, although he might as well not have bothered for even he could not hear it, he bent his head to the ground and slowly lowered his body to rest flat against the cool earth.

For what seemed an age, he writhed in agony, willing the pain and the noise to recede. It seemed to only grow in intensity, however. Taunting him, teasing, bellowing into his very soul the mournful sound. Tears fell from his eyes and spilled onto the ground and he heard the trees crying for him now as well. Taking no comfort from the added cacophony, he squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the inevitable unconsciousness to take him. It would be a sweet relief, provided the screaming didn't follow him even into the darkness.

Just when he thought it would soon all end and he would slip into blessed oblivion, the world fell completely silent. It was so abrupt that he could barely absorb what had happened. He lay there, back against the ground, hands clutching his head.

Slowly, he opened his eyes. The light had dimmed a little. Normal sunlight shone through the canopy, warming but not hurting. And there was not a sound. Even though the wind rustled the leaves in the trees, he didn't hear it. For one terrible moment, he thought he had been deafened by the loud, high-pitched wailing that had dominated his mind. But it was not so. He heard a scurrying noise by his head and he felt relief beyond measure.

But the silence now unsettled him. Not even the trees made a sound. They didn't sing reassurances to him and he found their disinterest in him worrying.

The pounding in his head soon receded as well and he was grateful that the pain was not going to last long.

Across his chest, a spider crawled. Not the giant, vicious variety that lived deep within the Mirkwood, but a regular-sized one that scuttled across his tunic and fell almost comically down his side to reach the forest floor. Legolas smiled as his eyes followed it. However, the spider had a specific destination in mind, hence it using the prince as an easy surface to crawl across.

Legolas' eyes widened when he saw what the arachnid was heading for. It took a moment for his brain to catch up with what his eyes were seeing. When it did, he leapt up so quickly that he stumbled backwards, tripping over something on the ground falling down.

The mossy forest floor cushioned his fall but his eyes widened in horror as he realised what had tripped him up. Akin to the first one, this second body was resting on its back, its eyes wide open and bulging from their inflamed sockets. The body was grey. How long it had been resting there, Legolas did not know and he didn't want to wait around to find out. Scrambling to his feet in a most ungraceful manner, he tried to get away, but behind him the trees were closing in, trapping him in this clearing.

There were five bodies, he realised, laying in a circle, every one of them connected. The smell hit him suddenly. The familiar smell of death, of rotting flesh. He gagged and almost fell again to his knees. Behind him, the trees seemed to move in closer, forcing him towards the grotesque bodies. Catching himself against one of them, he looked desperately around for an escape. It was the Woodland Realm and he knew it like the back of his hand, but he could not place his location. The clearing didn't look even remotely familiar.

"Help me!"

The shout was so loud that Legolas visibly startled, clutching at the tree he was leaning against. It was a young voice, a child perhaps, and that turned his blood cold.

"Where are you?" he called back, for he knew instinctively that this was no hoax or trick of his imagination.

"Help us!" The voice was closer this time and he sourced the direction and immediately stumbled towards it, purposefully avoiding looking at the ring of bodies even though he feared tripping again.

With luck he managed to find his way through the thickening trees and he followed the haunting voice, which continued its pleading mantra. Soon, he was stood in another unfamiliar place, although the tall trees suggested he was yet inside Mirkwood.

There was no doubt it was a Human settlement. But it was a scene of utter destruction. Bodies lay everywhere, all in the same state as those he had just left behind, greying and rotting under the baking sun. He gagged again and this time lost his footing. He wanted to scream and cry for this loss of life, for although they were not of his people he felt their deaths as keenly as he would have one of his own.

"Help us. It comes." The disembodied voice still called to him and Legolas looked up, searching for it, but all was still in the compact village. Not even the carrion creatures stirred.

"What comes?" he asked of the emptiness.

"The creature. It comes for us."

"What creature?"

This time he received no answer, although he listened intently for what seemed a long time. Just as he was about to repeat his question to the empty village, the screaming returned inside his head and he fell flat on his front, it took him so much by surprise. It reverberated around inside his head, pounding incessantly. Gripping at his forehead, he fought for control, tried to think of what had brought it to an end last time. But nothing work and he found himself languishing in the agony, alone with only the dead for company.

**OIOI**

Legolas sat up in bed with a cry. His eyes quickly cleared and adjusted to the gloom but in his mind he thought he saw even now the shadows of his dream and they left him trembling and sweating in the warmth of his quarters. For he was in his own room in the Palace, not outside in the Forest with the dead.

Bringing his hand up to his forehead, Legolas was convinced there was some wound there, it hurt so intensely. But his hand came away covered in nothing but sweat. He held the trembling appendage before him in wonderment. It had been a dream but it had felt real. He still felt the throbbing pain in his head, heard the ringing of screaming in his ears and, more disturbing, he could still smell the bitter perfume of death. Sitting in his bed, he bent forward, almost retching at the memory, for it was as clear now, five minutes after waking, as it had been when he was lost in the dream.

Suddenly, the night silence of the palace was broken by a scream and for a terrible moment Legolas was convinced that he had not awoken after all and that he yet dwelled in the dream world. However, the door to his room was flung open and Beriogelir burst in, followed by the two guards who always stood outside his quarters at night on guard.

"Your Highness, are you alright?" asked the bodyguard.

"Yes. What is going on?"

A light was brought in and within a minute the room was filled with candlelight. Legolas realised that Beriogelir was in a state of disarray. He was still wearing his nightclothes, although he had slung a robe over the top to make himself look at least partially presentable; his hair was ruffled and he had the harrowed look of someone dragged from his bed by emergency.

"Beriogelir, what is going on?" repeated Legolas when he didn't immediately receive an answer.

Another scream split the air and all the Elves winced.

"Who is that?"

"I do not know. The healers have just taken him away."

"Why?"

The guard looked darkly at his prince for a moment then turned to dismiss the two startled guards so they could speak in private. "I do not have many details. All I really know is that someone came to wake me to tell me that there had been an incident close to your rooms. I received only a swift report as I passed on my way here. From what I can tell, there was an attack."

"What?" Attacks in the palace were rare, attacks within throwing distance of the Royal Family even rarer. "Is it Orcs? Is the King safe?"

"Yes, the King is safe. And no, I don't think it was Orcs."

"Then what?"

"I do not have any details."

Legolas took a deep breath, irritated that it came out ever so slightly shaky. He had hoped his old friend and personal guard wouldn't notice but nothing got past Beriogelir and he found himself being scrutinised.

"Are you well, Your Highness? You look…"

"Yes?"

"Distressed."

Distressed? Legolas shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts – and get rid of the incessant and increasingly annoying pounding. "I am well, my friend. I merely had a bad dream, that is all." He tried for a smile but didn't think he succeeded as the concern on Beriogelir's face only increased. "Truly, I am fine."

"What did you dream of?" There was an unusual note to the guard's voice, one that Legolas didn't think he had ever heard before in the experienced Elf: fear.

"I…" He hesitated, not knowing just how much he wanted to share with his friend. However, there was a need for answers in the green eyes observing him and felt he had to be honest. "I dreamed of death. Of a Human village decimated by some evil. And I dreamed of that place Alassien and I found in the forest, of the bodies we observed, placed in a circle."

All the colour had drained from the guard's face and he slowly lowered himself into a chair as Legolas spoke. When the prince had finished, he ran his hand down his face and shook his head. "I dreamed a similar thing," he confessed after a moment. "A Human village, the dead covering the forest floor. And…screaming."

Legolas' heart raced. "I dreamed of screaming also. A loud, keening wail inside my head that brought pain to every nerve in my body." He did not need to ask if Beriogelir had dreamt the same, the look on his face said it all. "We had the same dream."

"It would seem so."

It was not unheard of for the Elven race to be able to share in dreams. But usually these were couples, bonded together through love or close families. But never had Legolas experienced the sharing of a dream with anyone, let alone a guardsman.

Another scream filled the room and both Elves looked to the door. "Where have they taken the patient who was attacked?" the prince asked, his eyes still locked on the shut door.

"To the healing halls."

Shoving back the covers, Legolas climbed out of bed, went to the wardrobe and pulled on a robe over his nightwear. Dragging a pair of boots onto his bare feet, he said, "I want to know what happened. We're going to the healing halls."

"Yes, Your Highness."

"Remain on high alert. Something is going on here and I honestly don't know what it is."

"Of course, sir." Beriogelir didn't need to be told. He had been on high alert since the moment he had sat up in bed with a scream lodged in his throat. In fact, he hadn't released the grip of his sword since picking it up as he'd left his room in search of his prince.

**OIOI**

"I'm sorry, I can't tell you anything."

"You must know something. He's been here an hour now. What injuries does he possess?" Legolas asked impatiently of the healer.

Sighing, the physician decided it best to just get this over with. Normally, he wouldn't divulge information about a patient once they were inside the healing halls, particularly information about one of the king's most trusted advisors. But this was the prince asking and there could be no doubt that things were not right in Mirkwood. The patient was a mystery and that disturbed him.

"Very well." He glanced behind him, as though checking his patient was not listening, although they were some way from the screened off area. "Apart from a few cuts to his arms and face, there is nothing physically wrong with him."

Expecting more, Legolas remained silent but the healer did not speak again, instead standing waiting, expecting Legolas to leave now he had answered the question put to him.

"That's it?" Beriogelir demanded, his face thunderous.

"What more do you want?"

"Details. What happened to him?"

"What do you mean?"

Legolas stepped in, concerned that his irritated guard might chase this healer away for good. "For example, how did he receive the cuts to his arms and face? Was he attacked?"

"I think not," snorted the healer as though talking to an ignorant child.

Now he was fighting just as hard as Beriogelir to keep his calm and he was close to losing his temper completely, especially with the pounding in his head irritating him more and more. "Then what happened?"

"I believe he did it to himself. And your guards seem to agree. It took several of them to restrain him sufficiently to bring him here in the first place. The knife he used was his own ceremonial dagger. According to the guards, none of the windows or the door was broken. He did it to himself."

"Why?"

"How would I know that?"

Ignoring the comment, Legolas thought back to what had alerted them to the advisor's predicament in the first place and asked, "When they found him, he was screaming. We heard it all throughout the palace."

"He was still screaming when he was brought here. We had to sedate him."

"Did he say what frightened him?"

"He said nothing, merely cried."

"So you can tell us nothing?" Legolas snapped, finally losing patience with this healer. He had thought that the Elf might be more helpful, given he was speaking with the Prince. "Was he poisoned with something, perhaps?"

"It doesn't appear so."

"Then alcohol? Was he drunk?"

"No. I smelled nothing on his breath."

"Then what? He has no history of this kind of thing. I saw him yesterday meeting with the King, he was normal and healthy then, so what happened in the interim?"

"I cannot possibly say."

Turning away to keep himself from saying something he might later regret, Legolas bit his lip and thought hard about what had happened. Something had caused a perfectly healthy advisor to injure himself and, it seemed, lose all sense of himself. What could have done that, Legolas could not imagine, and it seemed the healer was at a loss as well – that would certainly explain the defensiveness.

"Alright," the prince said after a moment. "I want Erudraith to look at him. Send for him at once. I expect a full report on this within the hour. And I want details. I want to know what happened."

Looking more than a little affronted at being told he was being replaced by the chief healer to the Royal Household, the healer turned away with a curt nod and disappeared behind the screen to tend to his unconscious patient.

"I should brief the King. Again."

Beriogelir nodded and followed his prince from the healing halls towards the king's rooms. Thranduil was being kept there for the time being under guard. Although Legolas didn't really suspect any danger within the Palace, he didn't want to take any chances and it seemed like the Royal Guard agreed with him.

Entering the room, he found his father pacing back and forth, his face like thunder. "You must call off these guards, Legolas. This is ridiculous. What is going on? No one will tell me anything. You wouldn't believe I was King of Mirkwood this night."

Legolas remained silent whilst his father vented his pent up frustrations, as he was prone to do, and as soon as all had fallen silent, dismissed the guards and sat down to explain everything to the King.

"There has been another incident."

"I figured that much out for myself." Thranduil positioned himself in his usual chair, fixing his gaze upon his son and waiting with forced patience for the younger Elf to continue.

Meeting blue eyes with confidence he most certainly did not feel, Legolas said, "It is Alyameldir."

Thranduil's gaze immediately darkened at the mention of his friend and he sat forward anxiously in his chair. "What happened?"

"At first the guards thought he was being attack, such was his screaming."

The King paled slightly and let out a long breath. "I heard screaming. I didn't realise…I thought…"

"That it was a dream?" finished Legolas for him.

"Yes!"

"It seems many people had the same dream, including myself. I dreamed of the dead I found."

"I dreamed much the same. Dead in the forest. And the wailing…"

Legolas nodded in agreement. "Beriogelir had the same dream and I have spoken to others who had the same experience. They all woke when they heard screaming."

"Will Alyameldir be alright? Was he seriously hurt?"

"Superficial wounds only. But the healer is worried about his state of mind. It seems he was so distressed they had to sedate just to keep him calm. It seems he is stable for the time being. I have ordered that Erudraith see to him."

"Good. Tomorrow, we assemble every advisor and high-ranking guard in Mirkwood. Something is happening in the Forest and I want to know what it is."

"Yes, Sire."

"You are worried." It was not a question.

"Yes, Sir."

**OIOI**

The older Elf sat at her kitchen table, a forlorn look on her features. A fluttering from the window drew her attention away from the table top and she looked up to see a bird fluttering against the drapes, attempting to get inside, to the warmth, she presumed. Climbing stiffly to her feet, she freed the struggling creature, smiling at its twittering gratefully at her intervention.

Sighing, her body aching, she moved back to her seat and took it, straightening out the apron she had placed over her dress to keep it clean while she baked. Or keep it clean from something else. She couldn't remember actually baking something and the kitchen smelled of musty air rather than fresh-baked bread. Shaking her head at her own absent-mindedness, she laid her hands palm down on the table and frowned when she realised the top was covered in a light dusting of flour. That was right, she had started baking and something had distracted her.

Climbing back up to her feet, she moved towards the stove and laid her hand on the top. It was stone cold. She was sure she had lit it earlier. However, she shrugged her shoulders and set about lighting the stove in preparation for her cooking later on.

The table held all the ingredients she needed, all laid out ready.

"What a mess," she muttered to herself, swiping her hand over the covering of flour, dotted here and there with peculiar shapes drawn with her own fingertips. She wiped her hands lightly against her apron and tilted her head. "You could help, you know? It wouldn't hurt you to help out your mother."

Her daughter remained gazing absently into the distance, ignoring her mother's words.

"Well, you ignore me if you like. You know my thinking on the matter. That guardsman is no good for you and you know it!" She bustled about for a moment, throwing ingredients into the large bowl already laid out. She remembered now; she had become distracted from her baking by her daughter's arrival, complaining once more about that young guard she liked so much but who barely noticed her presence in the Palace. She might as well have gone after the Prince himself, mocked her mother as she had listened bleary-eyed.

"Sulk away, child. It makes no difference."

Roughly, she began mixing ingredients together. Occasionally, she swatted at a fly bold enough to approach the bowl.

"Stubborn creature," she snapped at her daughter, who firmly looked away from her, unwilling to meet her mother's eye. Only because she knew mother was always right, thought the older Elf triumphantly.

She swiped at her forehead as another buzzing annoyance pitched on her and some of the mixture fell down the front of her apron.

"Now see what you have done!" she yelled angrily, looking at her silent daughter. "Go home. You're next to useless. It is no wonder no one will have you." Her daughter stubbornly refused to move and anger welled in the older Elf's heart. "Get up, you lazy…" She stopped herself from shouting further. No matter what her mistakes or how great her foolishness, she was still her daughter. "Don't you have to go to the Palace. They will miss you in the servant's quarters, I'm sure." No movement. "Well, fine. You sit there, while away your life. See if I care."

Furiously stirring the mixture, which stubbornly refused to come together, the Elf maiden looked up again.

"Flies!" she yelled into the air, swiping at the new swarm of irritating creatures. There seemed to be an abundance of them just lately. "I'll get rid of them. You finish your tea," she told her brooding daughter, shaking her head at the blank look she received in turn. She pulled open the drapes and let the fresh air in, breathing deep.

As she was about to retreat back to her baking though, she spotted something on her pale drapes and she frowned. It looked like…

"Did you do this?" She whirled on her gormless daughter angrily, one finger pointing at the dark splotches now decorating her drapes. "You're here for one day and everything falls apart." Returning to the table and mixing at the stubborn bread mix more furiously than ever, she ground out, "How you have managed to maintain your position in the household as a maid I will never know. You are so messy, child. Even when you were a little Elfling, always the same. People do not change, do they? Well, you can clean those. If you think I am going to spend my entire life cleaning up your messes then you are sorely mistaken."

Her cheeks burning with anger and the effort of stirring the bread mixture, she bit her lip and concentrated on her baking. Hunger gnawed at her stomach. If she didn't finish this, there would be nothing to eat.

Another fly landed on her then danced down to rest on the flour-covered table. Angrily, she swatted at it, bringing her hand down hard against the worn wood.

"Got it!" she shouted lifting up her palm slowly.

The little fly rested on her palm, squashed, and she felt a peculiar sense of pleasure at having ended the annoying life. Dusting off the clinging insect, she wiped her hands together.

"What?" she murmured as she looked at her palms. They were sticky, covered in something; and nothing from her mixing bowl. This was dark red, almost like…

"Would you sit up straight. Stop slouching!" she yelled at her daughter as the younger Elf slid down further in her chair as though purposefully trying to irritate her already frazzled mother. "You never listen to what I say!" Tears formed in her eyes as she rubbed her hands against her apron, trying to rid them of the sticky substance.

She knew what it was that coated her palms. Somewhere in the back of her mind, something snapped and she clutched at her chest, her other hand holding onto the table for support. Tears rolled from her eyes and dampened the flour on the table, undoing her doodles. Broken circles she had idly drawn in the fine white powder were blotched with water, their shape destroyed.

"Listen to me!" she yelled again at her daughter. "Listen!" She slammed her hand against the table again so hard that the wooden lump of wood shook under the force.

Still the obstinate girl ignored her mother's pleas and, enraged beyond proportion, her mother picked up a knife that rested in the centre of the table and storming around to the other side, prodded the girl with the tip. Tears filled her eyes again as the sharp tip connected with skin.

Her daughter didn't say a word, didn't even protest. The mother sobbed aloud, prodding again and again, harder to draw attention.

"Get up. You have to go now."

More flies took to the air, buzzing all around, disturbed by the movement of her daughter.

"Listen to me!"

She stabbed the knife into her daughter without even thinking about what she was doing. The moment she felt the tip connect with bone, she jumped back, recoiling in horror at what she had just done.

Not that it mattered. The body fell harmlessly forward onto the table, sending up a flurry of flies and a cloud of fine flour. Her daughter was already long dead. She had ceased to live more than three days previously and had become the main attraction of the swarms of flies that had found their way in to the fresh meat inside.

The older Elf dropped to her knees, one hand clamped over her mouth as realisation finally set in. She could smell the awful scent of blood on her hands and she knew it was from her daughter, for she was certain that the young Elf's death had been her fault, although she couldn't remember the details.

Seeing for the first time what she had done, the Elf's mind almost broke. But not soon enough. She saw the previous stab wounds, the fatal one to the back and numerous others which had not bled enough to suggest they were done before death, and the carved circle in her back, which had caused her clothing to all but fall off.

She screamed aloud, horrified as the truth crashed over her. With a shaking hand, she reached up and pulled out the knife with no small amount of effort, and turned the kitchen blade over in her hands in fascination.

Looking back up at the still, pale figure of her daughter dead by her own mother's hand, the Elf maiden felt her mind fog. She didn't know what she was going to do but she felt the knife biting against her palms but she paid no heed until her hands had stilled and the knife rested on her lap.

She looked down, taking in the blood and smiling at the symbols now carved into each palm carefully. How apt, she thought as she lifted the knife to her own breast, placing the tip above her heart, she was to meet the same fate as her daughter.

She felt pain and then the heat of blood dripping from her chest as the knife plunged deep into her chest. She felt lightheaded and she liked the feeling immensely.

Her body crashed forward, shoving the knife deeper still inside of her and causing flies to buzz excitedly at the thought of fresh flesh. How right that she should suffer the same fate as her daughter. The world always brought balance, she thought with a weary smile just before consciousness left her for good.

**OIOI**


	5. The Village

**Fear Itself**

**By**

**Freddie23**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing created by Tolkien and I make no money from this story.**

**Rating: K+**

**Chapter 5 – The Village**

"I want to go there."

Thranduil watched his son curiously, his eyes following Legolas' progress pacing across the floor. This evening, his son was all nervous energy. He was troubled, Thranduil recognised. Understandably so. What he had described in his nightmare was deeply disturbing even to the King and even given everything else that had been happening in Mirkwood of late.

"To this village?" Thranduil asked, although he knew fully well what his son was asking for. He was stalling for time.

"Yes, Sire." Blue eyes turned to the king, imploring and frightened at the same time.

Sighing heavily, Thranduil sat back in his chair and watched his son fight to keep still before him. He recognised this behaviour. Legolas wanted to get going, to hurry towards his destination, to find answers to these questions that were bothering him so much. The truth was, however, that Thranduil would have given anything to keep Legolas in the palace at this time.

"What good do you think it would do?" the king nevertheless asked, attempting to sound as a king rather than a worried father. That line was becoming harder to define as Legolas got older, Thranduil realised.

"We might get answers."

"Answers to what? Legolas, right now, we don't even know what the question is!"

"Then we might find something useful there. At the very least, there could be people there who need our aid. How can we just ignore that?"

Good move, Thranduil thought. If he denied the request after that he would appear unfeeling towards the communities surrounding the palace. He owed the Humans nothing. This village did not accept any help from the kingdom. They lived entirely separate from the Elves. And yet, to ignore them would be considered wrong even before his own people.

"I cannot," agreed Thranduil, shooting Legolas a look that suggested that he knew exactly how he was being played. "But neither can I risk sending you or anyone else out there on a hunch."

"Not a hunch, Father. I know what I saw and it was real, not some nightmare conjured from my mind."

"I believe you believe it, my son."

"Father!"

Thranduil held up his hand to halt any protest. "My decision is made." Legolas' head drooped, disappointed by the outcome. "You may take a contingent of guardsmen and search for the answers."

Legolas looked up, startled by this sudden change. "I'm sorry?" he asked, hoping that he had not misheard.

"You are right. For all their attempts at isolation, I cannot ignore the cries of help from people in my own lands. And there could well be answers in this village you speak of. Go there. Find out all you can."

A bright smile crossed Legolas' lips; he was relieved by the decision. "I know already who I wish to take."

His son was already heading towards the door, eager to get started. "You leave in the morning," Thranduil called back to him, halting him before he could leave. "It is too dangerous to travel through the forest in the night. Take all due care, Legolas. Do nothing reckless while you are there." The prince nodded, having heard similar warnings most of his career as a member of the Guard. "I pray that your dream was wrong, that those people are not damned to that terrible fate you described."

"As do I." Legolas bowed then, low and respectful. "Good evening, Father."

"Safe journey, my son."

Once the door was closed, Thranduil laid his head back in his seat, exhaling long and slow in an attempt to calm his nerves. This was the right thing to do, but, like every other time he was forced to send his son on some mission within the Forest, he felt a pang of fear in his heart. The possibility that one day Legolas may not return haunted him every time the prince left the security of the Palace. Today, the fear was more real than ever before.

**OIOI**

They entered the Human village to the west of the Forest of Mirkwood with no small amount of trepidation. Legolas had never set foot in the Human settlement, nor had any of the others with him, although before they had left that morning Daugon had informed them that the Elves had indeed had contact with the settlers when they first arrived over two hundred years previously. Records showed that the palace diplomats had introduced themselves to the Humans but had been told in no uncertain terms that they wanted nothing from the Woodland Elves or their infamous King.

The Elves had warned them of the dangers of the Forest – for even then the Shadow had been growing and threatening peace even as far away from Dol Guldur as this settlement – they had even offered protection. This part of the Forest was and remained peaceful, however. They wished to live alone.

For all their unease, the Elves had left them to their own devices. After all, they had agreed to the terms laid down by the visiting Elves – to follow the law of Thranduil and to give all necessary respect to the Great Forest of Lasgalen as it was then known. Records showed no transgressions. The Men lived peacefully. No reports were made of law-breaking or of trouble in that part of the Forest and they were forgotten, left to live their own lives away from the Shadow and away from the eyes of the Elves.

The original visiting Elven party had been frugal with their notes, however, and had reported little about the Men. There had been no mention in their official report of where the Men had originated from or how many had come. Unfortunately, the commander of that particular patrol had since left for the Undying Lands and none of the others were around to ask.

Legolas and the five Elves he had picked to go with him were in the dark over what they might find in this village and it was making them all nervous.

Legolas had wanted to take four warriors and a healer with him just in case anyone in the village was hurt and in need of help, but Daugon and Thranduil had been insistent that every one of the party was to be a trained warrior. And Legolas had been forced to agree in the end. There was more than a small chance that they might find something treacherous in this village. If that was the case then they would need all the help they could get.

Following normal procedure, the Elves stuck together and first observed the village from the trees surrounding it. Their excellent eyesight meant they could keep some distance between themselves and the settlement and still observe it with ease. What they saw – or didn't see – set warning bells ringing in their heads and when finally they descended in silence from the trees and approached the village they were on full alert.

It was clear from the moment they had laid eyes on the place that something was seriously wrong. It was mid-afternoon. The place should have been bustling with life at this time of day, but everything was completely silent, dead. Legolas couldn't help but shudder. This was what he had dreaded. He was only slightly relieved that his worst fear had not come true and he had not seen the same distressing scene he had witnessed in his dream. Although, he thought that perhaps that might have been better for they would at least know what was going on had the place been strewn with the dead.

"Perhaps they have moved on," whispered Beriogelir softly as the Elves stepped from the forest floor onto the crafted roads of the village.

"Perhaps." Legolas was doubtful, however.

It was small place. Smaller than Legolas had anticipated. Flattened mud roads had been carved through the centre and branching off towards small clusters of houses on the ground rather than in the trees, built from wood and, it seemed, mud, roofs covered with straw and vegetation. Thin material curtains rustled in the breeze in a few windows, only making the place seem even more eerie.

There was not a soul about. No patrol, no guards, no children playing on the roads. Not a single sound came from the houses. At the very least, Legolas thought, there should have been a schoolhouse somewhere, which would surely be noisy. Nothing, though. Another chill ran through him. This was an unnatural silence. The village didn't seem deserted. It didn't have that feel of a long-abandoned place.

"We should split up into three pairs, take a look around," said the prince quietly to the others. "If anyone finds anything, shout. If we find nothing, we meet back here within two hours. Understood?"

A chorus of soft 'yes sirs' answered him and he nodded for them to split up. Naturally, Beriogelir stayed with his prince whilst Alassien, who had insisted he was coming along whether Legolas liked it or not, went with another of the guardsmen. Both Legolas and Alassien knew better than to argue. The bodyguard would not be separated from his charge while things were so uncertain.

Moving off together, Legolas led Beriogelir down the main road into the village whilst the others split off down the side-streets.

"It is quiet," noted Beriogelir as they moved slowly and warily through the houses on the outskirts heading towards what looked to be business fronts deeper into the village.

"Too quiet," agreed Legolas.

Neither Elf had taken their hand off the handle of their swords since they had entered this village, although nothing had threatened them yet. They didn't trust this place one bit. It had a strange feeling about it. Legolas had learned long ago to trust his instincts and they were screaming about this place.

After walking three quarters of the way down the road, they came to a halt and Legolas said softly so as not to upset the silence too abruptly, "No one about. Not one person."

"It is certainly unusual."

Legolas shook his head. "I don't like this."

Beriogelir looked around uncertainly, his hand tightening on his sword handle, getting ready to unsheathe the blade. "Should we retreat and return later with more guards?"

Truthfully, Legolas was uncertain. He wanted to do just as his old friend suggested: come back with reinforcements. But so far they had seen nothing that suggested danger. It could be that the Men who had settled here had simply moved on, or returned to where they had come from, and not bothered to inform their Elven hosts. He would look rather foolish if he summoned a whole patrol out here on a groundless suspicion.

"No. Let us continue. Be on alert though." He needn't have bothered with the latter command. Every nerve in Beriogelir's body was braced for trouble. Looking to the shop fronts they had reached, Legolas said, "Let's take a look inside."

He walked up to the closest place and laid his hand on the door handle. "Unlocked," he announced somewhat disappointed. Perhaps if it had been locked it might have suggested the owner had left calmly. Unlocked suggested a hurry.

The door swung open easily to reveal a small store stacked with numerous jars of objects floating in what looked like dirty water. Food stuffs, Legolas presumed, although he didn't recognise any of it. Shelves were fully stocked with packages, jars; herbs, dried and tied together hung in neat bunches from hooks from the ceiling. A long counter at the far end of the room was stacked with more objects including wooden boxes and jars.

As Beriogelir examined some of the jars, peering at them in fascination, Legolas moved around the counter into a back room only to find it empty. It smelled strongly of herbs, which had clearly been prepared on the room's large wooden table. There was a fresher bunch laid on the centre of the bench and a knife resting at their side, as though whoever had been working here had simply downed tools and left without having time to pack away.

Stepping away, he returned to the front and found Beriogelir thumbing through what appeared to be a ledger of sales.

"Prime business time," Beriogelir said from behind the counter. "Someone should be here. She was doing good trade here."

"Something is not right here," Legolas agreed, striding into the centre of the shop and looking around as though answers might come to him. There was no sign of a fight or struggle. It seemed the proprietor had simply left. "Let's go."

Outside once more, Legolas was struck again by just how quiet everything was. It seemed as though even the trees in this part of the wood had fallen silent. And there was something more, something dark in this village. He could _feel_ it. For all his attempts to stretch out his senses and discover what it was, Legolas was unable to get a tangible idea of what it might be that unsettled him so. It was not a feeling he was used to and he didn't like the uncertainty one bit. It was something he might have expected had they been in the neighbourhood of Dol Guldur, ancient fortress of Shadow that haunted their Forest. But this village was far removed from that part of the Realm. In fact, not even the trees were touched yet by the Shadow.

And yet…

Legolas shuddered once more, glancing at Beriogelir. Although the bodyguard's face was neutral as always, Legolas sensed he felt the same way.

"We should check some more places."

As they started walking, Beriogelir reasoned softly, "It is entirely plausible that these people have simply moved on. Something might have driven them away. Although this part of the Forest is yet untouched by the Shadow, they may have gotten wind that all was not right in the Elven realms and decided to cut their losses."

Legolas nodded thoughtfully, continuously looking about himself, hoping for some sign of life to make itself known. His wishes went unheeded, however. "But why not take everything with them? I recognised some of those herbs. They were for healing, most of them. Who would leave behind such valuable assets?"

"Men's ways are strange to us." Even Beriogelir didn't believe the words he spoke. He was simply trying to find a reason in this insanity. And it was not working well.

"But can you not feel it?" asked the Prince imploringly, coming to a sudden halt and looking around himself again, his hand drifting towards the handle of his sword. He fell silent, his eyes narrow, as though he expected an attack at any moment.

As much as he hated to admit it, the guard had to agree with his charge. "I feel it. Something is very wrong with this place."

They started walking again, although slower now. Both were on alert. Whatever had happened in this village – for although they had found no evidence of anything occurring yet, they were both convinced – it was by no means guaranteed that it was over. They could yet be in danger.

"Look, a physician." Beriogelir pointed to a larger building, a sign carved into a log of wood, which had been hung over the doorway displaying the profession.

"Good," Legolas sighed. He knew that if people had simply moved on, they would have taken all the healing supplies they could carry. If they needed anything, it would be medicine.

He walked up to the door and found it to be unlocked. The moment he pushed the door inwards, the pungent smell of dried herbs assaulted his senses and he almost recoiled. Light was dim inside, pouring in from the windows, only partially covered by ancient shutters. As Beriogelir entered, he let the door slam closed behind him and both Elves jumped at the noise.

"Apologies, Highness," said the guard sheepishly.

Taking a breath to steady himself, Legolas turned his attention to the room. It was fairly small, but densely packed with all the things one would expect to find in a physicians' hall. The shelves were lined with herbs, both in jars and in bunches; a desk stood in one corner, itself bursting with jars and herbs and a couple of old leather-bound books, a chair at its side, for consultations, Legolas presumed.

"I'm going to check the back room." Already the prince had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. The place seemed untouched; not a good sign.

He walked over to the door on the other side of the room and pushed it open. Just what he expected to find was concealed inside – a healer's office, immediately recognisable even in the world of Men. There were piles of paper everywhere, books on crooked shelves and yet more herbs. A flat bed with a mattress and neat blankets pulled tightly over rested on one side. Pulling open another door, he found a supply cupboard containing bandages and various other healing supplies.

Whoever had worked here had certainly built up quite a collection. He wondered if perhaps this village was not as isolated as the Elves believed it to be. From the looks of some of the books, they had traded with someone – not the Elves but almost certainly somewhere close like Lake Town.

However, the healer had not taken anything from the building. Surely, Legolas reasoned to himself, if they had left they would have taken something with them, not left everything exactly as it was.

He ran his finger over the book laid open on the desk. It was leather-bound but when he flipped open the cover, he found scribbled writing. A journal, he guessed. The writing was neat but the script unfamiliar to him, although he was able to spot a few words written in the Common Tongue of Westron so he was certain he would be able to read it.

Looking around, he found several more books of the same nature and he picked them up, putting them under his arm. They might prove useful later, he thought.

"Anything?"

Beriogelir's voice from the doorway startled Legolas but he covered his surprise well. "Diaries," he answered, showing the books to his colleague. "They might be able to tell us something."

"It's a start. We should check some other places. Perhaps they might give us a better…"

The guard's words came to a sudden stop as a shrill scream split the air. It turned their blood cold and both looked toward the door, as though expecting any moment for something to burst through. The air fell still and silent, however.

As one, the two Elves moved, running from the hall and towards where the scream had emanated from. It was obvious at once where the noise had originated. Two of Elven guards who accompanied the prince on this mission were stood by a large building in the centre of the town. Legolas and Beriogelir ran the remaining length of the main roadway through the village. Both hearts beat wildly. Neither knew what to expect.

One of the guards stood by the open doors, his hand gripping the wooden frame so tightly that his hand shook. The other had spun away and was in the process of bringing up everything he had eaten for lunch. Legolas' blood ran cold as he saw the guards' reactions. These were seasoned warriors who had each spent much time in the Forest excising the Shadow that threatened Thranduil's people. For them to react in this manner meant that surely was something was seriously wrong.

He didn't want to see what had caused this reaction, but his legs carried him towards the building against his will. His throat was tight as he called ahead of him, "What have you found?"

The guardsman at the doorway did not even react to the sound of his Prince's voice, whilst the other just waved his hand to indicate he couldn't speak just yet and Legolas did not press the matter.

Legolas took just two more steps before the smell hit him, like a physical wall, and he faltered slightly. Shielding his nose with the sleeve of his tunic, he forced himself onwards. Even now, he knew what it was his people had found in this village and he knew his worst fears had been confirmed even before he had seen for himself the proof. There was no mistaking that stench. He knew it well and it was not something he could forget. The smell of death was in this village.

Despite the sickness in his stomach and the continuing fear in his heart, he carried onwards, past the retching Elf, and came to stand behind the guard gripping the doorway so hard that his fingers had turned white. He laid his hand against one broad shoulder and squeezed slightly when his presence was initially ignored – or not noticed. Slowly, the guard turned his head so he was facing his prince, revealing a pale face already streaked with tears.

Although there was recognition in the guard's eyes, he did not answer Legolas' command to let him by, as though he were frozen by the horror of whatever lay within this building. Once, he opened his mouth, as though to speak, but he could not find the words and ended up closing it again without uttering one word.

In the meantime, Beriogelir, momentarily stalled by the stench that had hit him in the same way it had Legolas, approached and, gently moving the Prince aside, tugged on the frozen guard. "Come away," he commanded with more authority than Legolas himself had been able to muster. However, it took Beriogelir to physically pull the guard away before Legolas could gain access to the building. It was clear that the guard was in deep shock. And one glance inside the building told Legolas why.

His mind recoiled at the sight and for a moment he felt lightheaded and reached out to steady himself against the doorframe. It was too awful to bear.

On the ground of what had clearly once been the village meeting hall, laid what appeared to be the entire Human population of said village. They were packed tightly together, some lying atop others. Men, women and children crammed inside with no respect or dignity. Most wore no clothing; it looked to have been ripped off of them without thought or care.

No blood was immediately visible to Legolas, although the light was dim and his mind was working more slowly than usual as it fought to process all it was seeing. There was a plague of flies, however, and the buzzing only added to his disorientation. Creatures scuttled about over the corpses, feeding and sheltering and making the whole nightmare appear eerily animated.

But it was the smell that arrested Legolas almost completely. How long the bodies had been lying there, or what had caused their deaths en mass, he could not imagine. And as for what could have caused such a catastrophe in Mirkwood was entirely beyond the Prince. Not even the Orcs could wreck destruction this complete.

The light from the windows did not allow the perfect view of the entire scene – for which the Prince of Mirkwood was immensely grateful – but Legolas was already convinced that this was not the work of Orcs, or even of the Giant Spiders of Mirkwood. Orcs would have been more prominent with their displays of brutality, not to mention their tendency to hack away at their victims and there was little blood that Legolas could see and no signs of destruction within the village; and the Spiders only killed to feed and they dragged their prey up into the trees to feast upon, not laid them out in a hall.

Legolas knew without a doubt that this was something new and something far more terrifying than Orcs or Spiders. He also knew, undoubtedly, that it was connected to what he and Alassien had found in the Forest a week ago. Although the bodies were not arranged in similar ways, somehow it felt the same.

"Oh my…No." Beriogelir's voice from beside him startled Legolas and he looked up just in time to see the bodyguard careen away, his hand over his mouth, unable to bear the sight.

Legolas, however, found that he could not tear his eyes away. Each corner brought with it a fresh horror and he was morbidly transfixed by the sight. The smell was becoming unbearable, the sight devastating and he felt his body weaken beneath him. Worried that he might well fall, he gripped tighter to the doorframe.

"Your Highness," someone called from behind him, but he could not turn away. He wanted to run, wanted to scream or cry. But he could not make a sound.

"Legolas."

Someone, he assumed it was Beriogelir, suddenly grabbed his shoulder and pulled him roughly away from the doorway so he was forced to stumble backwards. The moment his eyes left the sight, his mind finally caught up and his body was but a second behind. His legs almost crumpled beneath him and only a firm arm locked around his own prevented him from falling there and then.

He heard the door slam shut behind him and he was glad for it. He couldn't look at that again. It was too much.

Like the other Elves who had come before him, he managed to get a couple of paces away before he fell to his knees, bracing himself on his hands just before his face crashed into the ground as well. Someone grabbed him and supported his weight and he was grateful for the help.

"You're in shock," Beriogelir told him as he gasped for air, fighting hard to keep from passing out. "Just breathe slowly."

Slowing his breathing was easier with the guardsman coaching him and after a minute the dizziness subsided and he was drawing in deeper breaths of mercifully clean air, although he didn't think he would ever be able to get rid of that dreadful smell.

Finally, Legolas sat up on his knees, drawing his hand over his face.

Beriogelir sat next to him, himself shaking. The other two guards had pulled themselves together a little more and had moved to support each other, their hands wielding their swords as though concerned that whatever had caused such destruction might well return and add the six-strong party of Elves to the macabre display in the village hall. Both looked pale and their hands trembled but they were no longer out of control.

"What happened?" Alassien shouted from a little further down the road, startling all four Elves. "Your Highness, are you all right?"

He had rounded the corner and seen the Prince and his bodyguard on the ground and the other two guards with their weapons drawn and had naturally assumed the worst. Behind him the sixth guard also came running, although he moved straight past the Prince and towards his two colleagues for an update.

"We're all right, Alassien," Legolas replied, his voice shaking almost uncontrollably.

"What happened?" persisted the guardsman, more forcefully this time, for he knew well that Legolas was not one to shy from trouble when presented with it. Something bad must have happened to cause him to fall to the ground. They weren't in immediate danger, the fact that Beriogelir had not bundled them out of the village in a flurry of weapons and speed was testament to that. But still, something was wrong and he wanted to know what it was.

Legolas looked towards the large building but quickly averted his eyes. He could not stand to even think of it. It was Beriogelir who answered, quickly filling Alassien in on what they had found.

The guard's face paled as he absorbed what he had been told and his eyes were fixed on the building behind him. Slowly, he took a step forward, needing to see for himself what was contained within.

"Don't." Beriogelir quickly gained his feet to keep him from stepping any closer.

Meanwhile, Legolas got to his feet, relieved to find his legs would support his weight now, although he still felt a little shaky. He was also pleased to find that the other two guards had pulled themselves together, drawing themselves from their shock and sickness to join the others.

"We need to get back to the Palace," said the Prince. They all agreed without hesitation. "The King needs to know about this as soon as possible. It seems all our fears were completely founded." He looked toward the building with sadness this time. It hurt to have to leave those people there, for although the sight had initially turned his stomach, he felt such great sadness for them. They were innocents. Whatever had killed them had done so in a brutal manner. No one deserved that.

He did not want to leave them a moment longer than was necessary, but he knew there was nothing he could do for them right then. They needed the help of the Palace. Besides, for all his sadness for their terrible fates, he didn't think he had the stomach to return to that building and certainly not to move them.

"Come on. Let's go."

They left quickly, eager to be away from this village and from the death that seemed all around them. It was a day's journey back to the Palace and all were looking forward to passing this information over to Thranduil and letting the guards and healers deal with the deaths. It didn't seem right to leave these Men so lost and disrespectful in their broken village.

**OIOI**

"Legolas?"

The Prince paused at the sound of his name being caused and stood aside to let the other members of Mirkwood's Council pass him through the doors. Once the last Elf had left and the doors to the Throne Room had been closed, Legolas turned back to the King.

"Yes, Sire?"

Thranduil moved to sit on one of the chairs scattered around the long wooden meeting table. "You were right about that village. I should not have doubted you."

"Thank you, Father." Legolas leaned on the back of one of the chairs. "It was not what I was expecting but I am relieved we went all the same."

There was silence for a moment and Legolas wondered whether his father had in fact dismissed him and he had simply missed the signal. He was about to ask when the King stood from his seat and came around to stand before his son.

"What you saw, as you described it, was terrible," the King said softly. "Are you all right?"

Legolas took a deep breath. He had rather hoped to avoid this conversation, to avoid thinking about that place again especially in front of the King, but it seemed that Thranduil had other ideas. However, now that Thranduil had asked, he could not help but answer.

"I am all right, Father," he said softly, lowering his eyes to the ground. "I was just…shocked."

"Do you need to visit the healer?"

Legolas was startled by the question and immediately opened his mouth to protest but Thranduil continued onwards regardless, "You could be in shock, you know."

"I am fine."

"Is that why you ordered Beriogelir and the other guards who accompanied you to immediately report to the healing halls?" Legolas' frown told Thranduil all he wanted to know. "You don't even remember doing that, do you?" He didn't need an answer. "Report to the healers."

"I'll be fine, Father, really. I just need a bath," Legolas answered, looking down at his clothing, dirty from the hurried journey home.

Although the King didn't look convinced, he nodded, deciding that arguing with his son would not do any good right then. "All right. Go and get some rest. I'll see you in the morning when we can talk more." He did not add that he hoped to get some more information out of his son once he had calmed down a little.

Relieved that he would not have to spend the next hour being examined in the healing halls, Legolas quickly left the Throne Room before Thranduil had a chance to change his mind.

Thranduil dropped back down into his chair and ran his hand over his eyes. From the moment Legolas had stepped into the room, he had known his son had found something in the village he had gone to investigate and that it was something terrible. The pallor of his face and the tremor in his hands that he could not control was proof enough that something awful had been found. And as Legolas had given a long and detailed explanation of everything that had happened during their patrol, Thranduil had grown steadily more disturbed. It took a lot to upset the Prince after a lifetime of serving in the ever darkening Forest of Mirkwood but Legolas more distressed than the king had ever seen him before.

Legolas' report had been disturbing and upsetting in equal measure. To know that something dreadful had happened under the canopy of his forest was a shock. He would do anything to protect his Realm against evil. But this was something else. How could they fight something they couldn't even confirm or discover?

**OIOI**

Legolas sighed deeply as he closed the doors to the Throne Room behind him. For a moment, he leaned up against the wall, letting his eyes fall closed. Despite the King's instruction, he didn't think he would be getting much sleep. Although he was tired, he found he was also full of restless energy. He wanted to go out to the village again, to help the patrols and healers the King had ordered be dispatched. When he had suggested his presence might be beneficial, the King had flatly refused his request to join them. He was needed in the Palace. Of course, Legolas understood this. He would be of more use here in the Palace than in the village where the only thing to be done was clean up the mess left behind by whatever monster had devastated an entire people. But he couldn't help but pity the poor souls left stranded in that building, left to rot away and be picked at by vermin and scavengers.

"What did the King say?" a voice prompted Legolas from his thoughts and he opened his eyes to find Alassien's eager eyes observing him. The guard had been waiting outside impatiently, wanting to know Thranduil's verdict as soon as possible.

"Exactly what we expected," answered the Prince, pushing himself away from the wall and beginning the long walk back to his chambers. "A patrol and a host of healers are going to the village. Further patrols are being sent to Lake Town and any other settlement we know of in the area to warn the Humans of this tragedy. Guards are being increased all around the Stronghold."

There was silence for a moment as they walked, Alassien expecting the Prince to continue. When Legolas remained silent, he asked bluntly, "That's all?"

"For now."

"Patrols and healers?" Alassien shook his head in disbelief.

"There is a lot to think about before we take any further action."

If Legolas was hoping to pacify the guardsman then he failed dramatically. Throwing his hands up in the air, Alassien demanded loudly, "Like what? What is there to think about, Legolas?"

Using every ounce of his learned diplomatic patience, Legolas answered calmly in order to sooth his friend. "Like we have no clue what is going on here. Like we don't know what caused those deaths, whether it was Human or otherwise. Like we have no idea where the thing might be. We have too many unanswered questions at the moment. You know that." He looked to Alassien as the Elf silently fumed, clearly at war with himself about whether to say anything further. "What exactly were you expecting the King to say?"

"I don't know. Something more proactive."

"Alassien, we cannot do anything yet. We need more knowledge. Hopefully the teams sent to that village will be able to discover something."

"And if they don't?"

Legolas shook his head; it was something he had been considering as well. They might not find anything in the village at all. Then what could they do? Five Elves were already dead. A sixth resided in the healing halls almost out of his mind. How many more would be killed before this was over? They had no information at all. They didn't know what had happened to the Elves or to the Humans. One thing Legolas was certain of was that these were brutal crimes and they were no ordinary crimes either. Kinslaying was the worst the Elves could do, a guaranteed invitation to Mandos's Halls. But something had happened in Mirkwood to cause this, Legolas was certain. If only they could discover what.

When Legolas didn't reply, Alassien looked down at the ground. "I am sorry, my friend," he said to the Prince. "I know that the King is trying his best. As are you." He sighed, looking around as they paused in the corridor. No one had made public what had been found in the Human village deep in the Mirkwood but the patrol led by the Prince had made no attempt to sneak back in the gates to the Stronghold nor had they masked their obvious distress. People may not have known the cause, but they could see that something had upset their Prince and that was distressing enough for the people of Mirkwood.

"I just wish," continued Alassien softly, "that I could be of more help."

The Prince understood all too well that feeling. He wanted to return to the village, to be of help. And yet, he remained torn for he was also afraid, not of what had caused the destruction, for that was something he knew he could fight if it came to it, but rather of seeing those poor souls again. He felt for the patrol dispatched just moments ago to sort through the wreckage. He did not envy their task.

"I know how you feel. But right now, we are needed here. I need you here." He shuddered slightly, although the corridor was warm. "I fear we may be needed soon."

Alassien smiled more sincerely this time. "I will be here."

Legolas laid his hand against his friend's shoulder and smiled thankfully. "Go and get some rest. Go see Elarinya." He winked suggestively, drawing a laugh from his old friend, and stepped away.

"I might just do that," the guard called as Legolas resumed the walk to his rooms. For a few corridors he was quiet but the eyes burning into the back of his head caused him to suddenly snap in warning, "Don't say it."

"I never said a word." Indeed, the figure walking casually behind the Prince had not spoken a word the whole time.

"I am frustrated too, but there is nothing more anyone can do right now. We're all just going to have to accept that." Legolas glanced over his shoulder at Beriogelir, catching the bodyguard's eye.

"I know," answered the guard simply.

They came to a halt outside the Prince's door and Legolas ran a hand over his brow. "The moment we know anything…"

Beriogelir took the unusual step of interrupting his prince, not something he would normally do, especially when on duty as he was in that moment. "I know all this, your Highness. You are simply trying to convince yourself by getting me to agree with you. But there is no need. I already know all this and I do agree with the King's decision. As should you; it is a wise one."

Breathing deep, Legolas let his head fall back against the door. "I hate doing nothing. These are my people suffering, Beriogelir. Those Humans, whether they knew it or wanted it, were under the protection of the Forest and it failed them. We failed them." He shook his head, meeting shrewd eyes. "Those Humans had been there for some time. They went unnoticed, probably for weeks. Don't you understand? The Forest didn't inform us. Something happens beneath the trees, they cry out for the pain of their inhabitants, even the Humans. But we felt nothing. Thranduil would not say so, but he felt nothing either. The Forest grows darker with each passing day and not it is affecting the trees' interaction with us. What does this say for our future here?"

"This was one incident. And it was far removed from the Palace. It involved Humans, not Elves. Humans, I might add, who purposefully distanced themselves from us and shunned our protection. You cannot blame yourself for their deaths. You are no more responsible than I or the King. So the trees were silent. It was one incident. It doesn't mean the Forest is turning against us."

Although Legolas remained unconvinced, he smiled softly at the thoughtful words, spoken with absolute truth. "You are right," he said, although it was merely to appease his friend and protector. "It was one incident. This Shadow is wearing me down, I think."

The words came before he even realised he'd said them, but when it did hit him, he straightened out and before Beriogelir could press him for more details, opened his door.

"I need to take a bath."

His mouth open, poised to question his prince's strange comment, Beriogelir found himself alone in the corridor facing a closed door. He was off duty officially, even though his check-up in the Halls of Healing, however brief it may have been, had revealed nothing worse than his distress, of which he had been perfectly aware. He had come to meet Legolas following the debriefing he was required to give the King only because he had been curious as to what Thranduil's suggestion would be. It was as he had expected. And although he had kept his calm around Legolas and Alassien, he felt the same as the young guardsman; frustration built in his chest until he thought that he could not stand it.

Turning smartly away, nodding his acknowledgement to his replacement, Beriogelir made his way to his own rooms, not far from the Prince's. He was exhausted himself and thought that perhaps he could comfortably sleep solidly for a week given the opportunity.

**OIOI**

Legolas sat down heavily on his bed and resisted the urge to simply fall back and sleep where he was. He had to get changed. His clothing was dirty from the travelling through the forest and he desperately needed a bath. Kicking off his boots, he unbuckled his belt and let it drop to the floor. When he woke, he would have to tidy up but right then he couldn't be bothered. He had ordered a bath ready in his room upon his return and from the slight stream of steam coming from the bathroom he knew the servants had prepared the warm water for him already and he was grateful. He needed to wash off not just the dirt but the memory of what he had found in that doomed village. The smell of death, he thought, clung to him still. Even following their swift movement through Mirkwood and even though the distance between the village and the Palace was not insignificant Legolas felt that he could still smell that same stench and it turned his stomach.

Closing his eyes, he ran his hand over his eyes. Would he ever be able to put the experiences of today out of his mind? He had thought that seeing those Elves, his own people so brutally slaughtered was the worse he could imagine, but those bodies of the innocent Humans eradicated in what they would once have thought as the safety of their own homes, bloated and falling apart after rotting in the temperate weather of the Forest was even worse.

He could not eradicate that image from his mind and it was as unsettling now as it had been upon first seeing it. His eyes snapped open and he leapt up from the bed. The room felt suddenly too small and he needed to breathe fresh air. So he strode to the balcony doors, unlatched them and threw them open, breathing deep the cool afternoon air.

Leaning heavily against the railing, he caught his breath again and turned his eyes to the Forest. He had always loved it. Even as a child when he had not fully understood its mysteries and complexities, he had found it soothing and Thranduil had often soothed his disconsolate child by walking him beneath the boughs.

The Shadow had tainted it in recent years but Legolas had always been able to see through that dark veneer. He knew, unreservedly, that beneath the Shadow, the pollution brought forth by the Dark Lord and the ever malevolent presence of Dol Guldur, the tree Greenwood remained just beneath the surface, awaiting aid from the Elves. It was what kept him going throughout all the hard days. It never seemed entirely hopeless for Legolas, although he knew that others of his kind found it to be so.

But today, as he looked out over the Forest, lit by the fine afternoon sun, he felt a tremble of fear run through him. Whatever was out there, he could feel acutely its malevolence and he wondered if he could defeat it.

Shaking his head, he fought to push aside the thought. He didn't even know what was wrong yet. If anything. There could be a rational explanation for all this. Perhaps all these incidents were not connected after all and all this was his imagination seeking explanations for what he dreaded.

He shed his clothing on the way into the bathing chamber, glad to be rid of the travelling gear. He had not touched a single body but he could feel the taint of death all over him. His clothes would be laundered, he knew, but he would have been equally happy to have them burned. He didn't think he would ever be able to wear them again without remembering that building and its poor occupants.

The water was warm, but he would have liked it really hot, it might have been more cleansing. He doused himself with sweet-smelling soap, rubbing it into every inch of his skin and hair, desperately trying to get rid of the smell and the memory. It took a long while before he started to feel normal again. He climbed out and towelled himself dry, padding into the bedroom and dropping down onto the bed. He was exhausted, mentally and physically. Throwing the towel onto the floor to pick up later, he climbed beneath the sheets without even bothering to get dressed. He was not expected at dinner – Thranduil had told him as much. He planned to fall into deep reverie and remain that way until duty called him back to the waking world.

**To Be Continued**


	6. In The Night

**Fear Itself**

**By**

**Freddie23**

**A/N: Thanks so much to everyone who has reviewed and is still reading this. Apologies for the delay in getting these chapters out. I hope you enjoy the new chapter…**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing created by Tolkien and I make no money from this story.**

**Rating: K+**

**Chapter 6 – In The Night**

He ran as fast as his legs would carry him but it was no good. Still it followed him. Relentless, tireless. There was no escaping. He knew this in his heart of hearts, but still he could not stop. He was no warrior. In fact, many had teased as when, after King Thranduil had sent word to all the people of Mirkwood, telling them of the new, terrible dangers brought to the Forest by the newly inhabited Dol Guldur, Talfagoron had declined to take up basic training to become a guardsman. In fact, he had thought up every excuse he could to avoid entering the soldiers' barracks.

He was a Forest Keeper, protector of the Realm, but not by way of the sword. He looked after the trees still untouched by the Shadow, and he liked it that way. He didn't think he had ever held a sword in his life and to fire a bow would have been laughable. He was a peaceful soul, he liked to tell himself. That was why he did not volunteer for service when so many others from all walks of life had in defence of the Realm.

Besides, was his job not important too? Where would the trees be without him to look out for them, to keep track of their yearly cycles of change, to protect them from disease? Mirkwood needed him for a greater calling than war.

Once, he had been in the healing halls, afflicted with some rash caught from the spiny leaves of some plant he had stumbled across during his wanderings just beyond the Stronghold and, bored whilst waiting for the healer to return with a cream for his ailment, he had flicked through the books on healing lining the shelves. He had skimmed through one such tome, not remotely interested in the content. But one thing had stuck with him, for it had seemed very much to apply to his nature in particular. The idea of fight or flight.

It explained that some beings were naturally inclined to stand up to danger – or foolishly to seek it out – whilst others, like himself, preferred avoidance. He was most certainly inclined towards flight every time. He didn't think he had ever been in a real fight. Not even during his schooling with other boisterous Elflings, back when children in the Woodland Realm were common.

His decision to run rather than stay and fend off whatever monster was chasing him now might have been a mistake, he was just beginning to realise. Fighting the Wolf, for he was certain that was what was hunting him through the Forest, might have given him a chance, no matter how poor his skills or how weak his attempts. But running from it might just kill him anyway.

The beasts had inhabited Mirkwood for some time, although they rarely ventured quite so close to the Stronghold, preferring to keep to the shadowy depths of the Great Wood. Even he, as a Keeper of the Forest, had never seen one up close. Occasionally, they could be heard, howling when the night was still. But they rarely troubled the Elves.

Of course, he had yet to see the creature chasing him for himself. But the terrifying crashing, the snarling and growling left him in no doubt at all over what sought his blood.

It had been some minutes since he had last looked behind him; he was too afraid of what he might see, or that by looking back he might just fall and it would be his death.

However, he could have sworn that he had seen something in the shadows of the trees. Something. Or perhaps, just maybe, he had imagined what he had seen. He could no longer be sure. It didn't seem right as he thought about it as rationally as he could manage. For he could have sworn that he had seen the impossible: deep red eyes set in mangy silver fur and snarling teeth, dripping with saliva. He remembered seeing pictures of the like, images shown to him by his parents during natural history lessons. The Palace contained such images, emblazoned on the walls in frescos of the beloved forest surrounding it.

The pictures had always frightened him as an Elfling, and although he did not fear them anymore, for they were creatures just like any other and it was no secret that there were worse things living in the depths of Mirkwood, his mind conjured all kinds of terrible images of what now chased him. Every growl and crash only confirmed his worse suspicions.

With his heart pounding so hard against his ribs that they physically ached, he hurried doggedly onwards, forcing another burst of speed even though his aching lungs could hardly draw breath and his legs felt numb.

He was not unfit. Daily wanderings throughout the Forest of Mirkwood kept him active and toned. But it had been many years since he had been required to run like this and after just five minutes – although it seemed so much longer than that to Talfagolon – he was tiring.

He had to make it home, he knew. Once inside his house, he could shut the door on the ravenous beast for some reason pursuing him through the trees. He would be safe. It wasn't much further. Even through his panic he knew these woods well, knew the trees and the paths, overgrown though they were.

Struggling to keep his terror in check and focus on getting out of this situation, Talfagolon took a sharp left off the main path onto a narrower pathway. A short cut.

Veering so suddenly did nothing to put the creature off as he had hoped, however. He had rather hoped the dull creature would careen right past him, continuing on the more obvious path and he might gain some time before it realised his trail went in another direction. No such luck, however.

Behind him, he heard an almighty crash, then a whimper and he wondered whether it had collided into a tree or something of the like. But a moment later it was coming for him again, its growl louder and more ferocious than before and he feared that perhaps angering the creature by tricking it might do more harm than good.

Although he was more afraid than ever, he continued onwards, some small part of him clinging onto the possibility that he might make it out of this alive. Hope remained strong no matter what. It was a trait of the Mirkwood Elves. They had suffered much during their time beneath these Trees. War, destruction. But it wouldn't get them down. Some wondered why they stayed. But they all knew that their dedication to their home would pay off eventually and all would come good. Talfagolon tried to remember that now. It might be all that would save them.

A loud crash from behind him and the feel of leaves brushing the back of his neck drew a shout from him, which in turn made the creature growl louder than ever.

Instinctively, at the sound, he turned his head to look behind him. It was almost his undoing.

His lack of attention to the way in front of him brought him to a halt as he ran right into a patch of thickly tangled brambles. He cried out loud as the sharp barbs scratched his skin and caught on his clothing and halted his way out. Hearing the beast still so close by, he fought to compose himself and then desperately dragged one arm free. Panicking now really would be his end. Fighting to keep the panic in check, Talfagolon struggled to drag the prickly plant from him, unheeding of the multiple cuts he received for his troubles.

The plant seemed to almost have a will of its own, however, and the more he struggled and fought the more entangled he became. It snagged his clothes, first one thin branch, then more. It tangled in his hair, coiled around his legs, scratched his arms, legs and face. He cried out again, this time in frustration. He had to get free or he would be lost. However, the more he fought the more entangled he became.

Caught here, he knew it would be but moments until the wolf caught up with him. This spurred him on and he struggled all the harder. The he remembered: hanging from his belt was his knife. It could hardly even be counted as a weapon, it was too small and more than a little dull after many years of use and his unforgivable lack of care for the blade, but it might just prove his salvation. He used it in his job for pruning where necessary or for cutting various herbs to test their potency for the healers. It might not have been a warrior's blade but once he got his arm free enough to reach it, it undoubtedly saved him.

He slashed at the brambles, chopping mindless for a moment before coming to his senses and targeting more precisely and cutting away at the thin but irritating branch that had attached itself to his arm.

It seemed to take an age. He was sweating profusely from the effort and also from the mounting fear. He could almost feel the hot, putrid breath of the wold on his back. But at last, without a single fang being sunk into him, he was free.

Startled by his new freedom, he crashed forward and, in bringing up his arms to brace his fall, dropped the knife into the thick undergrowth all around him. There was no time to search for it now. He could purchase another if he got out of this alive.

Scrambling to his feet, he set off again. Home was tantalisingly close now. He crashed through a leafy batch of bushes and saw his home nestled neatly among the trees, just as he had left it. Never had he been so relieved to see the place. It was dark inside; he'd forgotten to light the fire before he'd left that morning. Not that it mattered. The front door could be shut and the wolf locked out.

Panting hard, he raced across the clearing in front of his home, almost slamming through the gate, then, not daring to look back just yet, not until he was truly safe, ran to his front door. It was closed but unlocked. In his panic, for the briefest moment, he pulled on it rather than pushing and was unable to gain entry. Clarity returned at the prospect of safety, of survival. He paused for a brief moment to collect himself and pushed the door hard. It was not locked. There was no point in locking the door in this part of the Woods. He was fairly isolated here. Not many people visited. He was glad for his trusting nature today. It bought him precious seconds.

A moment later, he was over the threshold. Safe at last. He almost laughed in relief. In one swift movement, he turned expecting by now to see the beast rushing towards him, intent on reaching him before he was completely beyond reach.

To his astonishment, the scene was completely clear. No wolf. Nothing more threatening than a squirrel dashing along the fence with amazing agility, startled by his abrupt appearance. Even the forest beyond his small clearing was quiet. Not a sound. Even the leaves didn't rustle. There was no tell-tale movement of leaves and branches of something prowling on the edges, no growling, no snarling. Nothing.

Still fighting to catch his breath, he looked along the treeline and the space around his house. All was quiet following his dash towards his home. The birds had settled upon their perches again, the squirrels returned to scurrying amongst the leaf-litter. It seemed as though everything was completely normal, as though no danger existed at all – or ever had existed.

But that was impossible. Right up to the moment he had swung open his front door, he had heard the growling, the savage snarling of the rabid beast that had chased him so far. It had been right behind him even as he had crossed the threshold of his land.

For a long time, he stood frozen in the doorway, afraid to take his eyes off the clearing, fearful that if he did then it would launch itself from the trees and he would not be quick enough to get away again. His hand gripped the edge of the door tightly, ready to close it immediately should the wolf return.

Nothing jumped out at him. The Forest remained quiet. Just as it always was at this time of day in this part of the Realm.

The wolf was gone.

Reluctantly, he closed the door, engaging the latch for the first time in a long while and sagged against the doorframe, closing his eyes and allowing his breath to slow sufficiently. It took a while before he felt strong enough to move. When he did, he went through each room of his house, searching in case the wolf had somehow found its way inside and was waiting for him. An absurd notion.

It was some time before the shaking subsided. He brewed himself a potent herbal tea, setting the kettle over the newly stoked fire before he went around closing all the shutters firmly. He had already checked the two entrances to the house but he checked again before he allowed himself to sit down in his small kitchen and sip at his strong, hot tea.

Still jittery about his encounter with the seemingly phantom wolf, Talfagolon put off going to his bedroom for as long as he could reasonably manage. He was afraid of what he might find, afraid of sleep in case he heard howling during the night. The shutters were closed and the doors locked and the rational, sensible part of him assured that he would not be in any danger within the confines of his house. But the irrational side of him screamed for caution.

Taking an unusually long time of cleaning up his kettle and cup – he had decided against dinner for after his fright his stomach did the occasional backflip that suggested food might be a bad idea – Talfagolon eventually had to give in. He could not stay up all night. Following his race through the Forest, his body and his mind were exhausted. He needed the regenerating properties of a good nights' sleep.

Before he retired, however, he checked again that all entrances to the house were barred. He didn't want to chance the creature coming back for him in the blanket of the night. Surely, he mused as he tugged at the shutters in his bedroom to ensure they were snugly locked together, wolves were more ferocious during the night, for that was when the Elves mostly heard them baying. Someone long ago, he could no longer remember who exactly, had told him that the wolves' cries, although frightening to young Elven ears, were nothing sinister. They were simply talking to each other, just as the Elves did, only in a different manner. Tonight that would have been little comfort to Talfagolon's overwrought mind. Mercifully, he heard no sound outside his home. No wolves.

Climbing into bed, he almost immediately fell into sleep. He needed the peace and quiet following his desperate fright earlier. Indeed, his sleep was more peaceful than he might have imagined. He woke once, hearing a creaking somewhere within his dark home, but he soon reassured himself that it was nothing more than the wooden house settling under the new temperature of the night.

The second time he woke up, it was in a cold sweat. He was sure he had heard howling, far in the distance. Sitting up in bed, the covers drawn around him as though the blankets might offer protection from vicious jaws, he listened intently. All was quiet and he thought that perhaps he had been dreaming after all. No one could blame him for that. Following the scare earlier it would have been a shock if he had not dreamed of wolves stalking him.

However, just as he was about to lay back down and surrender to sleep once more, the noise came again, closer this time: a vicious, deep growling. It made him jump and he realised he had let out a yelp of surprise.

With a shaking hand, he reached for the lamp and turned it up so the light grew in the room. Looking around, he found it still and empty just as it had been when he had fallen into reverie.

Another growl broke the tense silence and Talfagolon's breathing intensified, growing ragged and fast as fear took over. There was no mistaking, this growl came from close by, just outside his home. His eyes moved to the windows but they were blocked by the thick wooden shutters. It couldn't get inside. No wolf, however big, could break through them.

The third growl came not from outside his home but seemingly from the very walls of his bedroom. It echoed around the room so loudly that he covered his ears with his hands and brought his knees up to his chin.

"Go away," he whispered pointlessly. "Please."

His pleas went unheeded, however and he heard a bang from his front door. He could have stayed in bed, he knew, could have waited until the creature realised it couldn't get in and then retreated into the Forest, but Talfagolon found himself moving against his own instincts. Slowly, he lowered his feet to the floor and then stood up, resisting the trembling in his legs. He picked up the lamp from the table and stepped into the middle of the room.

The snarling had only intensified and he knew that there was more than one wolf waiting for him now. In fact, to him it sounded very much like they were circling.

Floorboards creaked as he made his way to the hallway, his hand trembling so much that the flame in his lamp flickered and stuttered a couple of times, although mercifully didn't go out. To be plunged into absolute darkness now would have been more than his nerves could stand. The hallway was dark beyond his small bubble of orange light and it had never looked more threatening. However, he proceeded forwards, placing one bare foot carefully in front of the other.

A sudden loud scratch at the front door before him brought the Keeper of the Forest to a halt. There was a growl, seemingly of frustration, then further scratching, more frantic this time as the wolf outside fought to get in.

Unlike when he had been running from it in the Forest earlier, Talfagolon knew without a shadow of a doubt that he would not escape this alive. They wanted him, sought his blood, his flesh and they would not be sated until they had it. Somehow, they would find their way inside his sanctuary and he would be finished. The thought made him tremble and he stood frozen in the hallway.

His breathing was still fast but it took a while for him to realise that not only was it fast but he could also see it pluming before him in misty puffs. This alerted him to just how cold the air had grown. He shivered beneath his thin nightwear. The fingers holding onto the lamp were growing numb, as were his toes. It seemed as though the little house nestled amongst the trees were freezing. It was still Spring and although the nights remained chilly following a particularly cold winter, the temperature never dropped quite so low anymore. In fact, the nights had been rapidly getting warmer. So this sudden and unexplained drop was shocking.

Shivering more intensely, Talfagolon wanted so much to run. Perhaps, he thought, he could escape through one of the windows, race around the back of the house and seek sanctuary amongst the trees. Impossible, of course. The beasts would be upon him before he could get away. But at least he would be doing something. However, his feet would not move. It was as though someone had bolted them to the floor.

In his hand, the lamp flame began flickering within its casing and after a moment or two it went out completely, throwing the house into complete darkness.

Seemingly spurred on by the darkness, the wolves howled louder and fought harder to gain entrance. They scratched at the door and it wasn't long before Talfagolon saw the wood splinter. It shouldn't have happened. It was strong wood, thick and ancient, but they managed it. He saw even through the gloom, one grey paw work its way through, claws bloodied from the battle with the ancient wood, pulling at the gap to make it bigger.

Then he saw a face. The same red eyes and white fangs as he had glimpsed earlier and once more he was reminded that this was no ordinary wolf. It was bigger, more ferocious. And, it seemed, ravenous. Its jaws foamed, its eyes rolled, desperate to get at him. It pawed at the door, splintering it further until its head was all the way through. All the time it was snapping its great jaws.

Talfagolon felt like he should be running. All around him, he could hear the same snarling; the wolves had encircled his home. It seemed that the creature that had chased him earlier had brought reinforcements. But why, he mused as he stood frozen and shivering from fear as well as the unnatural chill in the hallway. Why would the creatures be so intent upon getting him? Were they really starving? Had the Forest's harsh winter really been so unkind to them? If so, it might have been understandable. But he knew of no such food shortage and there had been hard times before and the wolves had never been so vicious and insatiable. What had changed?

The Keeper of the Forest wondered this as the door split open and the creature started to squeeze its considerable bulk through the cracked wood, claws scraping on the wooden floor as it sought to get purchase enough to pull itself forward.

In his hand, the lamp was now cold although he found he could see perfectly, his eyes having long ago adjusted to the lack of light. A cruel perversion whereby he could see the ultimate cause of his death.

Beneath him, he legs had turned wobbly and he sunk to the floor for no other reason than he didn't think he could stand any longer. He had encountered wild creatures before – in his line of work it was inevitable. There was a trick with wolves, he vaguely recalled as the beast before him snarled almost excitedly at being so very close to its prey, but he couldn't remember what it was. Perhaps to make oneself look larger, or to crouch to the ground. He didn't think either technique could help him now even if he could remember it. This was no ordinary attack.

Much to his surprise, the attack did not come from the creature before him but rather from behind. He felt something heavy slam into his back, hard enough to force him forward so he was pinned face down to the floor. He felt his skin tear and rip as thick, sharp claws were dug into his back. He screamed aloud when he realised what was happening. Another of the wolves had snuck in another way, although quite from where he couldn't imagine seeing as the house remained locked up and he had not heard anything within.

Strong jaws sunk into his shoulder and he felt terrible pain followed by the gushing heat of his blood pouring forth.

Then the other wolf finally pushed through, apparently angered that it had been beaten to its prey by the other. It howled loudly as it crashed into Talfagolon and the attacking beast atop him.

Claws ripped him apart, teeth ravaged his flesh. He could feel their breath upon him, smell the putrid odour of rotting flesh. Their thick, coarse hair swept across his skin as it was torn from his body.

For his part, Talfagolon could do nothing but scream. Soon, he didn't even have that, for the creatures, perhaps tired of his thrashing attempts to escape, managed to roll him over and went for his throat, ripping at it until the noise stopped and their prey lay still and dead beneath them. They feasted for a long time, taking their precious time over consuming their prey, hard fought for. They had never tasted Elf flesh before and they loved it. In fact, they couldn't get enough.

The five of them formed a circle around the carcass, or what remained of it, rejoicing in the bitter smell of blood and death. All the effort tracking the Firstborn had been worth it. Just as they had been told. Instinct alone had not been enough to persuade them of the virtues of consuming Elven flesh. But close guidance had helped things along and now they wanted nothing more than to sample the delectable treat again.

**OIOI**

Thranduil leaned forward, scanning the document before him with his eyes. On the other side of his desk stood an anxious messenger sent from the Guard barracks with the latest report from the patrols. Normally, Thranduil would have glanced at them and put them to one side for an advisor to deal with later or pass on to his son who remained in charge of most of the patrols. However, lately he had been taking special interest in them, reading every line carefully. He was so involved in this particular report that he had not yet dismissed the anxious messenger. The Elf waited, unnerved by being in the presence of the King for so long. Normally, he would deliver the message, mostly to the King's secretary, and disappear again. He had never been in the King's study for so long before.

"This cannot be right," Thranduil finally spoke, his frown returning. He looked up at the messenger as though he might know something about it. "Did you speak to the Captain of the Patrol?"

"No, Your Majesty. I merely collected the message."

"These Spider movements are unusual."

The messenger did not speak, because he had not read the message. That was not his job. He was to hand the message over and that should have been the end of his involvement. So, he remained silent.

"Send for Captain Daugon. I would discuss this with him."

Relieved to have a task he was cut out for, the messenger bowed smartly and turned, leaving as fast as dignity and protocol would allow him.

Thranduil stared after the messenger, all too aware of how awkward he had been. And it was not just being in the King's presence that had put the Elf on edge, Thranduil thought. There was something strange happening in Mirkwood and everyone knew all about it by now. The tales of the murdered families and the infamous village Legolas and his patrol had found had spread like wildfire.

People spoke about what had happened in frightened whispers, for speaking aloud of a Kinslaying was deemed bad enough in itself. For all their attempts to control the spread of rumours, the tales had continued, growing ever more elaborate and ridiculous, perhaps in an attempt to lessen the horror of Elven blood being shed by Elven hand. Thranduil had informed his Council, the only people privy to all the information the King and Prince had, that all details were to be kept quiet as much as possible so as not to startle the general population.

Mirkwood's people were already under severe pressure already from the Shadow that dwelled amongst them. It had taken much convincing to get the majority of them to remain and not travel to the Undying Lands as they wished. They were not weak-willed and they loved their home completely but Thranduil did understand that the Shadow was a frightening prospect for some. He could not stop them from leaving, only counsel them not to go, to trust in his leadership and his ability to protect them from the Shadow. Most had. Although some had decided that they did not want the fight.

They suffered the bad times – which Thranduil hated to admit were growing ever more frequent – most of them convinced that their King would win out in the end and order and Light would be restored to the once green wood.

But this was different and everyone knew it. Orcs and Spiders killing Elves was bad enough. But when they turned against each other…

Thranduil sighed deeply, laying the report down on his desk. Legolas' stamp was fixed to the bottom of the parchment, indicating that he too had read it. Soon, the Prince would be in to discuss it in detail, he did not doubt. Legolas was concerned about anything involving the Giant Spiders and he would be especially worried about any change observed in their behaviour.

Reading the report again while he waited for the Captain of the Mirkwood Guard to appear as summoned, Thranduil thought about what he would do about this. The Spiders were acting differently according to the observations of the patrols, who studied them in detail as well as exterminating them wherever possible. They had begun to spin their webs in a different pattern, not so ordered and higher in the trees. And they had been seen behaving oddly as well, running along the branches, falling to the ground as though dead, legs in the air only to recover after a moment and rush up into the trees again. All very strange.

On the up side, there had also been fewer reports of Spider attacks in the Forest recently. It seemed that whatever was making them act so differently was also quelling their appetite for fresh flesh.

**OIOI**

"You are certain you saw what you say you saw? Perhaps you were mistaken?"

"It was no mistake," said the Captain of the Patrol testily. "Did you not read my report?"

"Alright," Legolas stepped in, holding up one hand to silence the two Elves. Things needn't get out of hand. That would do nobody any good. Alassien backed off immediately, stepping away from the captain and the Prince just as he had been instructed. "We believe you," he assured the captain, who still stood a little straighter, defensive of his position and his word. "You may go."

With a sour glance at Alassien and a stiff salute to his Prince, the Captain moved away, closing the door to Legolas' office behind him.

"Well?" Legolas asked his old friend once the door was shut.

"I believe him."

The blonde Elf moved to sit heavily in his seat, his eyes looking to the report that lay upon his desk. It seemed amazing to him, the habits of the Forest changing so dramatically within just days and yet it could not be doubted. The Captain who had stood before him was well experienced with the Forest, having spent almost his whole career patrolling. He was the best they had. His word meant a lot to Legolas and to the King and many a recommendation from him had sealed the fate of some policy or other passed down from the monarch to his people.

"Strange though, that the Spiders should be behaving so oddly," Alassien continued and Legolas looked up, forcing himself to concentrate. "Orcs I can understand, they are under the control of Dol Guldur; what affects the fortress would affect them also. But the Spiders. They are evil, no doubt, but they are not controlled by anything, they are free beings; evil is just in their nature."

"I do not believe these unusual events are being controlled by Dol Guldur," Legolas said with absolute certainty that surprised even himself. He had believed that for some time and yet there had always been a nagging doubt somewhere in the back of his mind, a fear that he might just be wrong and that the Shadow was behind all this. But now, he was certain. The feel of it was wrong. Everything felt different.

"Nor do I."

"Well, that is something, I suppose."

"How long before we get reports of the Orcs behaving differently though?"

"That I cannot say. We must increase the patrols; keep a closer eye on everything. I will speak to the King."

"Do you believe he will agree?" Alassien asked as Legolas stood up and gathered up the report he knew Thranduil at this very moment would be reading as well.

"I do."

"Will you go with them? The patrols, I mean."

They walked together outside, being joined by Beriogelir, who had been waiting in the corridor for them to emerge. "I would like to," admitted Legolas. "Although I do not think the King would allow it. We may be needed here, Alassien. I hope you will stay by my side. I may need you before long."

Startled by the words rarely spoken by his oldest friend, Alassien took Legolas' arm to draw him to a halt and looked deep into worried eyes. He could see how much these events affected the Prince, for they happened in his Realm, under his command, and it hurt him to think that Elves were dying on his watch.

"Of course I will be at your side. Always. You know that."

Legolas nodded once and all doubt was banished from his features immediately. "Glad to hear it," he smiled, although it looked strained and false. "See that Daugon and the other Captains all receive this same report. I will speak to the King about increasing the patrols and we will go from there."

As he strode away, Legolas glanced to his left, out to the Forest. The treeline looked dark beyond the fences of the Stronghold. He looked forward to when he could look to the woods without feeling this terrible fear prickling at his senses.

Until then, he could do little but seek to protect his people and he would do just about anything to ensure they were protected.

**OIOI**

Legolas pushed his food around his plate absent-mindedly. His didn't have much of an appetite this evening and his presence at dinner was only assured because Thranduil had insisted that attendance was mandatory. The King himself, however, had barely touched his own meal, seeming lost in his thoughts.

Earlier in the day he had agreed to Legolas' proposal to increase the patrols, although it worried him what they might find within his home. They had all been ordered to use extra caution and to observe for the most part. Engaging the enemy was now a last resort, only if they had no choice. It was not an order Thranduil had enjoyed passing down, for he felt that even now in the midst of these strange happenings they should be defending their Realm from the growing Shadow. If Dol Guldur got wind of Thranduil's latest strategy, it would attack with all force it could muster. Never had Mirkwood's Stronghold felt as vulnerable as it did this evening.

Thranduil did not like weakness. He had spent a lifetime building this woodland home up from the ground, had shed his own blood to keep her safe and would give his life to protect those under his promised protection. To know that there was something else now attacking them, however subtly, was deeply disturbing.

At night, he dreamed of his people laid to ruin. He dreamed of waking and finding them dead and lying on the streets just like the Humans in the village Legolas had discovered. No matter how hard he tried to banish the thoughts from his mind they continued. And now they were beginning to enter his waking hours as well.

He was almost convinced earlier that the messenger earlier who had delivered the news of the Spiders' altered behaviour had held the pallor of the dead, had held out the parchment with skeletal fingers. It had been dismissed, of course, his own mind playing tricks on him. But out of foolish fear he had made the Elf stand before him until he could look up and seeing a living breathing person rather than a skeleton draped in saggy flesh. When the door had closed behind the bewildered Elf, Thranduil had breathed a shaky sigh of relief. But it remained disturbing to say the least. Either something was beginning to affect him as well or – much more worryingly – he was starting to lose his grip on reality.

Of course, Legolas and his advisors remained oblivious. He had not told them of his ghastly vision. They would insist he be confined to the healing halls to be poked and prodded and questioned until it could be discovered whether he was falling into madness.

No, for now, he had decided, he would keep this to himself. Everything appeared normal now and he had not experienced another 'vision' since the messenger had left his presence. It was over-tiredness, he was sure of it. Since that first murder of those two innocent people he had not slept well, his mind too full of sadness and regret for their loss. A good nights' sleep was all he really needed. Then everything would return to normal.

Thranduil looked up at his son, mournfully pushing food around his plate without taking a bite. He himself had little appetite and when he looked down at his plate he felt an inexplicable wave of nausea run through him.

Defiantly, he lifted his fork to his mouth and took a bite, chewing thoughtfully as he looked around his table.

Legolas was joined by his other advisors as well as Alassien and Daugon, although tonight was not organised to discuss anything in particular; they had talked in circles for hours now. Tonight was meant to be a chance to relax but Thranduil didn't think he'd ever felt such tension.

Everything was almost completely silent. Only the occasional clattering of silver on the plates broke the hush. No one had spoken since the first greetings. Even the servers were quiet, standing to attention at the side of the room in case anyone needed anything.

Someone cleared their throat and everyone looked up, startled, as though the sound were entirely unexpected. However, within a minute gazes had returned to full plates.

"This is ridiculous." Thranduil's voice shattered the silence and several of the gathered Elves jumped in their seats. They looked around, searching for the cause of the disturbance. Thranduil, however, remained unsympathetic and in a loud voice designed to cut through both the silence and the tension, continued, "Will no one speak? Have you nothing at all to talk about?"

It was Legolas who finally answered, although it took a little while as he gathered his thoughts about himself. "Forgive us, Your Majesty," he started overly formally for such a relaxed setting. "What did you wish to discuss?"

The King let his fork crash to his plate in irritation and he shook his head. "The events of the last few days have been horrendous, I grant you, but that is no reason why we should all sit in sombre silence. What is wrong with everyone?"

Daugon spoke up next before Legolas had the chance to discuss the feeling around the table. "I think, Your Majesty, we are all unsettled by what has been happening." In truth, the Captain of the Mirkwood Guard had more reason than most to be silent and lost in thought this evening. He had only just that morning returned from the Human village with the healers and fellow guardsmen where he had been searching for clues as to what had happened in that small Human settlement. He had been burying countless bodies and it had left him feeling exhausted and his soul aching. Thranduil had offered the invitation to dinner with no expectation of him actually attending but he had thought the company of his fellow Elves might chase away the sadness of what he had endured in the Human village. But such tension and silence had only heightened his feelings of lethargy and he felt worse now than when he had arrived in the Stronghold earlier.

"Well," continued Thranduil, looking around the table and staring at each in turn, "we all are." He sighed and leaned back in his chair. Nothing he could say would make them more at ease. A pall had descended over Mirkwood and he didn't know how to fight it.

"I think we are all just tired," Legolas offered, glancing up and down the table and settling his gaze upon the King.

Thranduil had to agree, "You are right, of course. And no one is hungry, I assume."

People shook their heads almost apologetically and then, as if Thranduil's words had given them permission, laid their utensils down quietly and many sat with their heads bowed.

"You may as well go, then," Thranduil said dismissively, waving his hand at them.

For a moment, they all waited, unsure whether this was proper permission or just the King voicing his disapproval of them. It was Legolas who clarified it for them. He nodded his head once, indicating that they may leave. Grateful for the dismissal, they all got up, chairs scraping loudly on the flagstones, and filed from the room.

Alassien laid his hand on Legolas' shoulder as he passed, a grateful smile crossing his face. He didn't think he had ever felt so uncomfortable in the King's presence as he did tonight, not even as an Elfling being told off for some naughty exploit.

When at last the table was empty but for Legolas and Thranduil, the young Prince leaned forward on his elbows and asked, "Is everything alright?"

"Of course it's not," snapped Thranduil without thought, leaning back in his chair so he was almost slouching. "Look at what is happening."

Trying to comfort the King a little, Legolas assured him, "They are all just tired. You cannot blame them."

"I do not _blame_ them! What right have I to keep them chained to the dinner table until their meals are consumed? But such sombre moods will not change what is happening in Mirkwood."

"I know but we are all affected by…"

"You think I am not?!" yelled Thranduil most unexpectedly.

Legolas startled at the words and their volume. It was not like the King to raise his voice. Usually he conveyed his displeasure with a harsh word spoken in a soft, admonishing tone. That had always been enough.

"I didn't mean that," Legolas continued tightly after a moment. "Of course I didn't mean it." Indeed, he thought the King very much affected by everything that had happened. His attitude tonight was proving that beyond a doubt. "Is there anything I can do?" he asked in an attempt to placate his father.

Thranduil shot him a sideways glance, then waved his hand in Legolas' direction. "Just go."

"I'm sorry?"

"Go! You want to, don't you? Return to your rooms and sulk there, I won't have it at my table!"

"Father…"

"You are dismissed, Legolas!" shouted Thranduil impatiently before turning his face away from the startled Prince.

For a long moment, Legolas looked at his father in shock. He was being ordered to leave the table. For what reason remained a mystery to him. He had just voiced what everyone else was thinking, after all. And Thranduil must have known how they all felt; he had pretty much picked up on it from the beginning.

What could he do, however? He would not start an argument right there and then, for he would surely lose anyway. Besides, Thranduil did not appear in the mood to discuss anything. So, feeling somewhat hurt at the blunt dismissal, Legolas stood up, bowed to his King and left Thranduil to his bad mood.

Once he was alone at the table, Thranduil looked around at the empty places. He regretted his words already. No one had deserved them. After all, they had all behaved in exactly the same way he had. Attending this meal had not been his idea of a good evening either. They had merely said what he would not. And he was grateful that he no longer had to sit through this uncomfortable event.

"You can clear the table," Thranduil told the servers waiting uncomfortably around the walls.

They stepped forward and quietly and professionally and cleared the plates, most of them still full, whilst the King got up and left them to it. Each were relieved that the King was gone. They couldn't stand the tension either.

Thranduil went back to his rooms immediately, shadowed by his own personal guard. He spoke to no one as he passed them by. He wasn't in the mood to strike up a conversation. When he reached his rooms, he slammed the door closed behind him so that it rattled in its frame. His room had been readied for him already, the fire lit, the lamps blazing and he was glad for the light. The thought of coming home to darkness was too much.

**OIOI**


End file.
